Jon Snow: The Stark Targaryen
by where.l.writes
Summary: Jon Snow learns he is no snow at all, but is blood of the dragon. Reluctantly, he is made Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Is he ready to rule or would he have served better on the Wall? Based on both Game of Thrones and Song of Ice and Fire. Not a serious story, mostly written for my amusement. Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! It's Mel again, and for the first time in a year, I'm stepping away from HP and going to attempt a GOT fic, which I admit, probably won't be very good, as I'm horrible at writing canonically and I plan to use this fic as an outlet for stress, and mainly fill it with harmless angst and mostly fluff, for when I'm feeling down. I'm going to warn everyone from now, I'll probably mix names up, or Houses or miss some intricate detail from the books, so don't read if you hate that stuff. We can all admit that George R.R Martin is a very detailed writer with a lot of characters, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I could never compete! Anyways, I'll try my best, but do keep in mind this isn't a serious or fast paced story, just some fluff with bits of angst to keep things interesting. Oh, a few things you should make note off if you do decide to read my little story:**

 **\- None of the settings, characters or names belong to me, all rights go to George R.R Martin or HBO.**

 **\- This is a canon deviation, so most of what happens in ASOIAF (and probably the game of thrones series too) happens in my fic as well. Also, since I haven't read Dance of Dragon's yet, none of the events which happen in that book occur in this fic, instead I will use season 5 of game of thrones for that period of time, so basically everything which happened in Game of Thrones season 5 happens in this fic, but not necessarily everything which happens in Dance of Dragons since I haven't read it yet. If I have changed anything, I will let you know during the story.**

 **\- Jon Snow was legitimised by Stannis and decided to rule Winterfell, in order to save Arya from Ramsay Bolton, and Sansa—who Melisandra told him(falsely)—was being imprisoned by the Iron born. He was well accepeted by the Northern and ruled as Lord of Winterfell until Danearys found him and named him kin (I'm using the theory that Jon's _parents_ are Lyanna and Rhagear). When Stannis died, Jon called his bannermen to fight with Daenerys and they both won the Iron Throne. The fic picks up at this part. **

**\- Every thing else should be explained.**

 **\- Even though I have read the books, I'll probably be following the TV series since they're easier to remember. If you find it confusing, please feel free to PM or review, try to be polite though.**

 **\- Margeary Tyrell x Jon Snow**

 **I'm actually quite anxious about posting this, so I'd like to enforce one last time that this fic probably isn't canon, it's based mostly on the television series, and I admit my memory of season five is blurry, the only thing I think I change is giving Margeary older brothers from the books.**

* * *

 _Chapter One_

 _Jon_

It had been three moons, and Jon still wasn't used to the warm weather of the South; even though Tyrion had told him numerous times that winter was coming, so this wasn't even King's Landing at its warmest. The thought made Jon weary; though admittedly, most things made Jon weary. It had started with his father's—well, the man he'd called father all his years—head being mounted on a spike, and ended with being lied to by almost everyone. _Not everyone_ , he corrected himself, _Tyrion hasn't lied to me. Yet._

It had surprised Jon, how pleasurable Tyrion's company had been the past weeks. The Imp's wicked sense of humour, and disregard for social restraints made him a breath of fresh air compared to scheming likes of Littlefinger, or the simpering of Mace Tyrell who'd sailed to the castle in order to free his children. _Yes_ , Jon concluded, _Tyrion was the best out of all of them._

Sometimes, Jon longed for his brothers at the Wall, for his friend Sam, even the wildling girl, Gilly, though his apparent sympathy for wildings had almost cost him his life. Most of the time, though, he longed for Winterfell, for the few short months he'd been the Lord of his home, thanks to the legitimisation from Stannis. May his soul rest in peace, Jon thought. He hadn't liked Stannis, and he certainly hadn't liked his companion, the Red Woman, but when the man had met his end in battle, Jon was shocked to find that he was sad. _H_ e _did give my home_ , _a_ f _ter all, and he was an honourable man_. _Well, until he met Melisandre_. _She lied to me, told me Sansa was being tortured by the Iron Born and Arya by the Boltons. I'd watch her burn seven more times._ Jon's heart had grown considerably cold since his days at Winterfell with Robb and Arya and Bran and the others. Watching Danaerys' dragons reign holy hell upon the Others and all her other foes— _our_ other foes, Jon corrected, had made him different. Older. Wiser, Tyrion would say. _Your experiences are what make you a great king_ , Tyrion had also told him.

 _King_ , Jon scoffed in his head. _I was the Bastard of Winterfell, Lord Snow_. With Lady Stark around, Jon had never hoped to even be given his father's last name, let alone become Lord of Winterfell, and being King of Westeros? The thought had never once passed the boy's mind. Yet, there he was, roaming about his castle, with hundreds of servants at his beck and call, and an entire kingdom to rule. _Fix, first, then rule_. The thought tired him.

 _It's her fault_ , Jon snarled, _Daenerys_. His aunt. Ever since she had flown on the back of Drogon to Winterfell, told him or his true parents and named him kin, everything seemed to go bad. Stannis died, and Jon was then forced to leave his comfortable position of Lord of Winterfell, leave his home and the people he'd known since birth, to follow his new Queen to the South, with all his father's bannermen to fight her battle for the throne. He couldn't possibly abandon his own blood? And if he didn't fight with her, Cersei or someone worse would've sat the Iron Throne and most certainly made life terrible for him and the other Northerners. Most of his Men remained loyal and respectful, despite the news that he was no Stark, but a Targaryen— _No, I am a Stark, my mother was Lyanna Stark, Lord Eddard's own sister_ —but he received mockery and jests once he reached King's Landing, for having three different names. Daenerys had cut the tongues of those who dare mock the Prince in her presence, but Jon soon told her to stop. She would win no love by cutting the tongues of her subjects for mocking something even he occasionally found ironic.

 _"You're my nephew," she said. "The prince. I will not have you mocked in mine own court."_

Jon had quickly learned not to argue with Daenerys unless strictly necessary; though most of the time, he convinced himself it _was_ strictly necessary. Still, despite his reluctance to accept his role as Prince Jon, Lord of House Targaryen, and determination to remain a Stark, or a Snow, even, Daenerys had grown quite fond of Jon, and vice versa, though Jon kept her at arms length, for fear of letting himself get too attached and then losing her. It wasn't until the Faith decided that Daenerys wasn't fit to rule Westeros as Queen, and decided it should be left to the people to choose, when the real arguments had come. She had fumed and raged and threatened to unleash her dragons if they refused her, her rightful throne. Jon and Tyrion had both laughed at that, the dragons obeyed Jon as they did Daenerys, and in Rhaegal's case, more. Eventually, Tyrion and Varys were both able to convice her that unleashing three dragons on the land she hoped to rule, wouldn't win the people's favour. So she grudgingly allowed the Faith to conduct a public vote for who should rule them; Jon had would never had guessed he'd be chosen.

 _"We want the Stark! We want the Stark!"_

All the Stark had wanted was Winterfell, his home, Sam as his maester, and Bran, Rickon and Arya found. He didn't want them. However, it seemed he had no choice. Electing Tyrion as his Hand, Jon had accepted the Iron Throne and left the Imp to keep things in order while he grieved and sulked and prayed and avoided his aunt and her Unsullied at all costs. He had naively believed Tyrion would give him a year or two before forcing him to fully start his duties; but after three months passed, the Imp's sellsword friend: Bronn had appeared in Jon's chambers, summoning the new King to a small council meeting.

Jon had hoped he would only have to face Tyrion. He was annoyed to find Daenerys, Varys and Littlefinger rising on his entrance.

"Your Grace," Petry and Varys echoed.

"You summoned me," Jon said to Tyrion, ignoring the other three in the room.

"Well, only at the incessant requests of your dear aunt, Your Grace."

Jon flinched at the formal term falling teasingly from the man's lips. "I had assumed that serving as a Hand to Joffrey would have prepared you enough to handle my twenty year old aunty, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion laughed. "The Mother of Dragons? No, Joffrey was a terror, but he was no preparation for a woman with six thousand Unsullied at her beck and call, along with three full grown fire-breathing beasts."

"Enough of these games," Daenerys snapped. "Jon, we've allowed you to twiddle your thumbs for three moons, already! I demand to know what your plans for the kingdom are, specifically your hostages, now that you have the throne."

 _I_ do _have the throne now, don't I? I'm King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms…_

"I hardly asked for the thing," he retorted.

"But you were given it anyways," Varys said. "I've found that those who don't strive for power or glory, seem to wear it well."

"Aye," Littlefinger chimed in. "Varys speaks truthfully, Your Grace. As does the Mother of Dragons."

"How should I know how to wear this crown when I never wanted it? I am a man of the North, a Stark," he snapped. "I am no King."

"You are a Targaryen—" Daenerys began angrily.

"I wish to speak with Tyrion alone," he interjected.

"Your Grace," Varys and Littlefinger bowed, before leaving.

"I take no orders from—"

"Daenerys," Tyrion murmured. "He won't talk unless you're gone."

"Fine," she growled. "But if _Your Grace_ would be so kind as to pay his aunt a visit, I'll be waiting with Drogon."

Once she had stormed out, her long silver hair swishing behind her, Tyrion sighed and poured himself some wine.

"Would you like a cup?"

"No," Jon was not fond of drinking.

"You could make her Queen instead, if you truly wanted," Tyrion said. "She'd be more than willing to oblige."

Musing quietly over his words, Jon imagined himself leaving the stifling city and returning to the cold, where everything was simple, and he knew what to do. Where he could walk through the woods with Ghost for hours on end, searching for his brothers. Where he didn't have to punish Cersei Lannister or her bastards, or deal with the old Queen Margeary. Where he didn't live in the place his father—his _uncle_ —had ultimately died.

"Robb would've been better at this," Jon replied.

"I disagree," Tryion answered.

"Robb won every battle he fought," Jon quipped.

"Yes. So did Robert."

"Robb was no Robert."

"No, but in my experience I've found that good fighters seldom make good rulers. They're better left on the battlefield."

"But I'm a good fighter, Tyrion," Jon protested. "I wasn't raised to be Lord of Winterfell, like Robb, I was always best with a sword in my hand."

"That's what makes you infinitely better than Robb," Tyrion insisted. "You weren't a pampered little lord, you faced contempt wherever you went, you earned every thing you have. You are a man, Jon, and Robb was a boy."

Jon couldn't help but feel slight warmth at Tyrion's praise; he had never expected to find a friend in the youngest Lannister, especially after Lady Stark's imprisonment of him, but when Daenerys had flown in to claim him, with the noseless little man, he had quickly grown fond of his dry humour and quick wit, and remembered how Tyrion helped him overcome his anger at being known as the Bastard of Winterfell; helped him embrace who he was.

"I fought for the Wall," Jon said. "I lived with the free men, and lay with a free woman . . . Sitting here, all day, sipping wine, seems so mundane. I should be doing something."

"Yes, all those experiences make you all the more better suited for the crown. You were a bastard, alone with rapers and criminals, you earned the trust and respect of _Mance Rayder._ You will be doing something here, Jon, you can make Westeros better, keep out of the hands of people like my sweet sister. You are one of the people, not one of the lords. And what did I tell you about the people and the lords?"

Jon laughed. "The lords may have the money and castles, but the people have the majority and that's what matters."

"Yes," Tyrion smiled. "Look at Daenerys: she won Yunkai, Mereen and Astapor by winning the people."

"Breaker of Shackles," Jon muttered.

"Yes."

"If I stay, you will remain as my Hand?"

"Well, I'd have to send someone to rule the Rock in my absence . . . Assuming that you see fit to grant me my father's lands and title."

"Who else would I give them to?"

"Just checking, Your Grace."

"Call me that once more, and I'll set Ghost on you."

"Think on what I have said, Jon. Daenerys can wait a few more days."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

 _Jon_

A week had passed since Jon's talk with Tyrion. He had come to his decision two days earlier, but prolonged the small council meeting he needed to call to agitate Daenerys. Seeing her angry, her violet eyes flare, made Jon feel as if he were fifteen again, teasing Robb and Arya. A small pain in his chest erupted at the thought of his youngest sister; her disappearance haunted him the most. The only reason he had agreed to Stannis' terms was because that red witch had told him Arya was being raped and abused at the hands of Ramsay Bolton at Winterfell. He had broken the vows he'd made before the old gods only to save his small sister. After defeating the Bolton's and finding a trembling Jeyne Poole in place of his sister, Jon had sunk into a hole he hadn't thought he'd ever leave, and had dedicated himself to the rebuilding of Winterfell in order to distract himself. _She could be anywhere, by now . . ._ At least he had Sansa. Littlefinger had organised for her to come to King's Landing from the Vale. _To gain my favour, Tyrion says._ Whatever his reasons, Jon was happy to have at least one of his kin returned to him; even if it was the one who had always ignored his existence. Jon did not even allow himself to dwell on the fates of Bran and Rickon, though he prayed each and every day for some news of them. _All my brothers gone… No, I have Sam. My last brother._

"Your Grace," Varys and Littlefinger seemed to have practised their routine greeting for Jon, as they did it in perfect synchronisation.

"Jon," Tyrion greeted him cheerily, taking a seat by his right. The place of honour.

"Where is Daenerys?" Jon asked.

"Right here, Your Grace," she gave him a mocking bow, before taking the seat to his left, her handmaiden Missandei mutely by her side.

"You look radiant, dear aunt," Jon smiled.

"Why don't you get on with it, nephew," she answered, trying her very hardest not to grin.

"Well, I have come to a decision," Jon said, addressing the entire council.

 _And how difficult and hard it was_.

"Pray tell, what is it?" said Daenerys.

"I have decided I will do my duty to the people of Westeros, who chose me as their King, and rule."

"A good choice, Your Grace," Varys said, while Petyr Baelish only smirked.

"The people of King's Landing and a few of the Great Lords," Daenerys said dismissively. "And the lords only chose you in hopes that you might take their silly daughters as wives. Dorne wanted _me_."

"Envy doesn't suit you, my Queen," Tyrion commented.

"I am Queen no longer," she returned. After realising how she sounded, quickly added, "I am happy for you, Jon. If not me, then I am joyed to see a Targaryen on the throne, where we should be. I am merely bitter at all that time wasted trying to be Queen."

Jon decided not to remind his aunt that he wished to remain a Stark, or a Snow if need be, and that he would not be taking Targaryen as his last name. "You can still be Queen," he said instead.

"How is that?" Petyr asked, his smirk out of sight. "You don't wish to marry, do you?"

"It is not unheard of," Tyrion said. "Plus, as my siblings were so fond of telling themselves: the Targaryens wed kin all the time."

"Quiet," Jon said, a little startled at how quickly his command had been obeyed. "I do not wish to marry Daenerys. I wish to name her Queen in Slaver's Bay, to keep the peace. If she wishes. I would also grant her permission to try and conquer the Free Cities too, if she should choose to."

A stunned silence filled the room, and Jon wondered whether his idea had been stupid and naïve. As much as he cared for Daenerys, he would get nothing done with her under his feet at all times, and she would probably frighten Sansa, once she came. With her gone, there would be no-one around pushing the issue of him restoring House Targaryen their lands and taking on the name. Plus, he had heard that the people of Slaver's Bay adored their _Mesa_.

"I see no issue in Daenerys returning there to keep the peace," Varys said eventually.

"You wish to get rid of me?" She said, hurt in her eyes that Jon had never seen before.

"No," he answered. "Only . . . You are not Westerosi. You do not know the people and you do not the lands. And you are too angry with the Great Lord's treatment of your brother and his family to rule them fairly. But you know Slaver's Bay, the people love you, and you ruled there successfully once."

"He was your father, Jon," she said quietly. "Rhaegar was your father, and those lords of yours bashed his children's heads against the walls and raped his wife's corpse."

"I am a Stark, Dany."

"No, Jon, you are my kin—"

"Yes, I am your kin. But it was not Rhaegar who raised me, not Lyanna whose breasts I sucked. It was Eddard Stark, who was murdered by Joffrey, who has already suffered and died for his crimes. We will always be family, Daenerys, but I won't hold the anger you do at their defeat."

"We cannot be family if you are a _Stark_ , Jon. I am a _Targaryen_ , and I thought you would help me restore our House," he could see the flare in her eyes.

"I will restore House Targaryen, as I promised. Storm's End will be given to Stannis' daughter, where she will live out the rest of her days, and Dragonstone will be the seat of your House. As I promised."

" _Our_ House."

"Dany—"

" _Say it_ , Jon, else we'll never be family. We are blood of the dragon, not Northerners."

"The North is in my blood, Dany."

"As is the dragon."

"Your Graces," Petyr interrupted. "I believe we can come to a compromise."

"Oh really?" Tyrion raised a brow.

"Aye," the Lord Protector of the Vale returned. "Your Grace need only take on both names and become Jon Stark Targaryen. The North can be left to Sansa or your brothers if they return, and the newly restored House Targaryen for your own children."

"I want my children to be of the North," Jon protested.

"Your children will be Princes and Princesses," Varys pointed out. "The eldest will be King or Queen if you are given no sons, and the rest, well . . . Maybe Lord Baelish is right in saying they may inherit Dragonstone and become Lord of House Targaryen."

"Well, Jon?" Dany had her hands on her hips.

Jon cast a quick glance to Tyrion, seeking the man's guidance. He lifted his cup to his lips and merely shrugged: Jon knew this meant he saw no obvious flaws to the plan.

"Fine. Dragonstone will be the seat of our House and my second child will inherit it. I will name the Houses of the Stormlands its bannermen and vassals, if that please you, dear aunt."

"That does. If it please _you_ , sweet nephew, I will to stay in Westeros until our House has been completely restored, then I will return to Slaver's Bay and continue my rule."

"That pleases me immensely," _I will have to warn her away from Sansa . . ._ "Until I do wed, however, you are Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Dany smiled, a rare occurrence that made her look ten years younger. Jon ached to reach out and hug her, but reminded himself that he had sisters enough to care for, that letting people in only ended up hurting in the long run.

"Now that's been sorted out," Tyrion said. "What's next on the agenda?"

"King Jon's coronation, to ensure that his rule is not opposed," Daenerys said, much more upbeat than she was a few moments ago.

"Yes, yes," Tyrion said. "First, you must venture outside the castle walls and remind the people why they chose you. Once you have secured your council, a trip to Dorne wouldn't be a bad idea, they have always resented being part of the Seven Kingdoms, but you and your aunt should be able to appease them for the meanwhile."

"Lord Tyrion gives wise counsel, as always."

"Before that, Your Grace, I'd advise you to handle your hostages. We still have Jaime and Cersei Lannister and the Boy King in the cells, growing restless each day," Petyr suggested.

"I thought we'd already killed her," Dany said.

Jon shot a furtive look towards Tyrion. "Oh don't worry, Jon, you're more kin to me than she ever was. Kill her, rip out her cunt, it bothers me none, so long as she is kept far away from Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne."

"Cersei allowed Joffrey to mistreat Sansa, too Your Grace," Petyr added.

 _So this is what it's like to be King, deciding to kill someone or not._ Jon had no feelings of kindness towards Cersei and when he thought of how her son had killed his father— _uncle_ , and her family had ruined the lives of his, he wanted to see her scream as she burned to death the way Melisandre had. But Jon was no longer a boy, and merciless acts of vengeance is what fifteen year old Jon would've done. But twenty year old, King Jon Stark Targaryen, first of his name, was smarter than that. He had become a turncloak in order to save the kingdom from the wildlings, had been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had rode the back of a dragon.

"On the morrow, I want all the Lannisters cleaned, clothed and brought to the throne room where I will judge and sentence them. I would also have Smalljon Umber summoned in hopes that he will take the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys said.

"You may also tell him he is free to bring with him three men, whom he feels would serve well in the Kingsguard."

"There must be seven, Your Grace," Petyr pointed out.

"Hopefully, Daenerys will allow me to take on two of her most loyal Unsullied—not Grey Worm, yes I know—to fill positions."

"That still leaves one place," Tyrion piped in.

"Which Ghost will fill."

The room was silent before erupting into laughter. Even Missandei grinned quietly.

"You certainly are of the North, my King," Petyr said.

"There is no-one more loyal to me than Ghost. He will sleep by my side each night."

"Personally, I feel it is a smart decision, Jon. I will of course leave Rhaegal in your care, once I go to Dragonstone. With those two by your side, you'll be the safest man in Westeros."

"Aye," Jon smiled.

For the next few hours, Jon and his council went through every issue that had grown in his three month absence. From paying back the gold the crown had borrowed from the Iron Bank, ensuring the Iron Born remained bent and loyal, and organising which servants and cooks and knights should be sent to Dragonstone, the new seat of House Targaryen. It wasn't until well after dusk that Jon was able to retire to his chambers, where he lay fully clothed across his bed, thinking of how long it would take to fully heal Westeros. He still had a hundred and other lords to please, Riverrun to fix, the Frey's to punish, and with Petyr setting off for the Vale once Sansa arrived, a Master of Coin to find. Not only that, but he was still hellbent on finding Bran and Rickon. A Stark must always be in Winterfell, and Jon had King's Landing to look after now. _On the morrow,_ he promised himself, _I will have Varys send his little bird out to find them. And Arya too._ Jon wouldn't ever rest easy in his Iron Throne without all his siblings safe and where they belonged.

III

The next day, Jon felt better. He had risen early, and took the chance to follow Tyrion's advice and venture into the city. He had brought Ghost along with him. For an hour or so, the two had roamed empty streets, with nobody recognising their King. It wasn't until the sun began to rise and Ghost stepped from the shadows and into the light that the people realised that Jon was among them.

"King Jon! Let us ride your wolf," they called.

"He cannot be ridden," he called back. "You may stroke him though."

That was how Jon ended up spending an hour in Flea Bottom, as he let his subjects each get a feel of Ghost's pristine, white fur. He hadn't realised he was enjoying himself, until the last person came and went. On whim, Jon declared that he would hold a feast in a fortnight, as thanks for the people of King's Landing choosing him, and that everyone who could fit into the hall, was welcome. Word travelled quickly, for by time Jon reached the Red Keep, he was being confronted by Tyrion who wanted to know where food and money for this feast was coming from.

"We don't have to buy it from the lords," Jon said. "A few gold dragons can buy crates of fish by the Blackwater, and I can get the meat from the butchers in Flea Bottom. They're cheap."

"To feed 'everyone who can fit'? We have to prepare for the winter."

"I know," Jon snapped. "We have the wheat and barley that Mace Tyrell gave us, and the water reserves Varys has."

"Speaking of Mace Tyrell," Tyrion said, seemingly over the feast issue. "He has been waiting nearly five months for the release of his two children. You should probably see them too, once you're done with my sweet sister."

"Who might those be?"

"Tommen's bride, Margaery and her brother, former Kingsguard, Loras."

"The thrice divorced maid and the Knight of Flowers?" Jon couldn't help but laugh. Knight of Flowers. He wondered how the beautiful Loras would've fared beyond the Wall.

"The children of the richest man in Westeros. Apart from me."

"Ha ha," Jon rolled his eyes. "The Reach, fertile land. Alright, I'll see his children. Though I doubt I'd need to, I suspect the girl was forced into her marriage and the boy is a queer, no?"

"I don't know about the boy, but the girl is a sly one. Her grandmother's a master at politics and she raised this one under her wing."

"Hm," Jon murmured. "Have them dressed and ready to see me once I'm done with your kin."

"Will do, Your Grace."

A few more hours passed, as Jon idly wandered the Red Keep, figuring that if he was going to live there, he'd prefer to know all the nooks and crannies. So far, he had found several hidden passage ways which and two abandoned rooms. He had ordered for Daenerys, Tyrion and Varys to sit in while he judged Cersei and her children. Ghost would be there too, of course, since he had no Kingsguard, as yet. He had opted for Littlefinger to sit this one out, he did not trust the man as far as he could throw him, and was often sceptical of his sly smirks and apparent goodwill. Then again, Jon trusted none of these Southerners, apart from Tyrion and Dany, occasionally. That reminded him, he needed to go and choose his Unsullied kingsguard.

Once he arrived in the throne room, Jon asked the two maidservants to fetch Dany and Tyrion, since Varys was already there. They jumped to obey, and again Jon was startled by how easily he could get things done in the castle. He had never been treated with such obeisance before, even those short few months as Lord of Winterfell, people had still been wary of him, and most of his days were spent rebuilding the castle and paying his respects to the bannermen, not ordering servants to fetch his aunt and Hand. Then again, Northerners were much harder and well, colder than these Southerners. His mind involuntarily drifted to Ygritte. _Never_ , he vowed, _will I forget her as the flames kissed her hair one last time._

"Sorry I'm late, I had a sellsword who needed prying of off poor Missandei," Tyrion waddled in.

"You should have that man put on a leash," Dany said. "He's a swine."

Jon laughed. He realised he had been doing that much more lately. _It is good to have family around, even if you do have different last names._ "A loyal swine, dear aunt, he remained Tyrion's ally during his entire time spent in Mereen with you."

"Just keep him away from my handmaidens," she warned, taking a seat to Jon's left. The right was reserved for Tyrion, everyone knew, though he supposed once Sansa came, he'd have to allow her to stand by his right.

"Where are the prisoners?" Jon had Ghost at his feet and Longclaw across his lap. He was ready for Cersei Lannister.

"Grey Worm, Rat Face and Strom are bringing them in," Daenerys informed him; her voice had changed to the regal tone she adopted for these kind of events. It sent a chill down Jon's spine, as he remembered how frightened he had once been of her and her dragon blood.

Cersei Lannister, Jon had to admit, had managed to retain her grace even after months of being kept prisoner in the black cells. He had once thought her the most beautiful woman he had seen, but now, as he stared into her cold eyes, and recalled how she'd raised a monster who'd done nothing but reign terror on his family's lives, he thought her one of the most unattractive women ever, even if her blonde hair still shone. _Anyways,_ Jon thought, _I prefer my girls kissed by the fire._ Abruptly, an image of Melisandre entered his mind, one of the rare times she'd smiled and laughed with him, about something other than her Lord of the Light. _She lied to me,_ he reminded himself, _lied to and betrayed me._ Jon Stark hated nothing more than betrayal.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm said. "I present to you Cersei Lannister, former Queen Regent, doer of incest, and brother to Lord Tyrion, Hand to the King. And her children, the Boy King and the Dornish Myrcella."

Chuckles sprouted around the room at Grey Worm's less than orthodox introduction. Jon took the moment to compose himself. He'd gone over everything he needed to say. He was king and Cersei was scum, he repeated this over and over. _She let Joffrey beat Sansa and lost Arya. She let my father die._

"Lannister," Jon said. "Before I begin, do you have anything to say?"

She narrowed her eyes at Tyrion. "Seems those little legs of yours can carry you quite far, brother," she spat.

"It seems they can, yes," he smiled jovially.

"How dare you smile at me after all you've done!" She screamed. "You killed Father and my Joff!"

"You would do well to remember yourself, Cersei," Varys intoned.

"You be quiet you filthy eunuch! Who gave you permission to speak my name? I am your rightful queen!"

" _That_ ," Dany said stonily. "Is my line."

"So this is the Targaryen whore with the dragons? Not quite as beautiful as the stories would have me believe."

"Watch your tongue around my kin, Lannister," Jon warned.

"Oh yes, the little bastard who turned out to be a Prince," she drawled. "You must love sitting there, on my Joff's throne."

"My father's throne!" Daenerys yelled. "Grey Worm!"

Immediately, the soldier took a whip and lashed it against Cersei's pale neck. Jon flinched at the brutality, but said nothing. _It would not do well to scold Daenerys in front of an enemy._

"This was House Targaryen's throne, Lannister. And my father was a Targaryen, therefore making this seat mine, and not your bastard son's, born of incest."

"Who are you to judge? Your family wed brother to—"

"We don't judge the act, only the adultery and the lie," Jon cut her off. "We are not here to argue my claim to the throne, I am King and that's that. I am here to punish you for you crimes, one of them including allowing my sister, a child betrothed to your son, to be abused and tortured here. For allowing your son to take my father's head. And for being cruel to a good friend of mine, who, had you treated nicer, may have vouched for mercy for you."

"He is a lying scoundrel! _Kinslayer_! He should be on trial, not I!"

"Enough. You show no remorse for your actions, so I have come to my decision, you will die. Does my council have anything to add?"

"Leave her in the cell with Drogon," Dany said. "Let him burn her alive, feel the pain my brother felt when her father had his wife and children brutally murdered."

"Does anyone object?" Jon asked, looking at Tyrion, who wore a mask of indifference.

"No, Your Grace," Varys said. "Only that Tommen and Myrcella need not suffer the same fate."

"Of course not," Jon said. He, like Tyrion he supposed, had a soft spot for bastards. "Tommen will be fostered by House Targaryen and raised at Dragonstone."

"No," Cersei cried as she shook her head.

"And Myrcella," Jon yelled over her. "Will be sent to the North, and wed one of my men when she is of age, if her uncle agrees to the match, of course."

"They are _mine_ ," Cersei screamed. "My children! They are kings and queens!"

"They are Lannister bastards," Daenerys shot back. "Once the realms knows that they have no claim to the throne any longer, they will be sent where they may and live a life where they are free from the likes of you."

"You Targeryen—"

"Grey Worm, take her away. Daenerys, follow them and ensure the sentence is carried out. No further cruelty will be given, only the death by dragon."

Cersei clutched at her children, and for a moment, Jon felt his heart soften. He couldn't possibly split up a family. Not after all that had happened to him. But then she spat right him, and declared that her children would rise above him and kill every Stark or Targaryen left, and Jon told Dany to get rid of her. Once she was gone, he beckoned her children forward and gave them both hugs. He hadn't given anyone a hug in years, and never imagined he would, especially not Lannister children, but he didn't want them to think him heartless. He hated causing their pain, but he had to think of the realm, of his own family.

"You still have your uncle Tyrion. If you wish, you might stay with him until Dragonstone and the North are ready for you."

The two children bowed and rushed to the side of Tyrion, who held them close and planted kisses on their heads. Jon decided that in a few weeks he would order that they could stay and be fostered by him, so they could be close to their remaining family member. If anyone asked, he could always say it was to keep an eye on them.

"You did well, Your Grace," Varys complimented. "Bring in Jaime Lannister," he then called.

Tyrion sent his nephew and niece to wait for him, by one of the curtains, hidden from the father. He had particularly liked watching Cersei be sentenced to death by dragon, and couldn't deny that he had felt a strange sort of lightness overcome him once Grey Worm had taken her away. He only hoped he could live long enough to see Myrcella and Tommen lead decent lives, and Jon become the King he was meant to be. He raised himself a few inches taller, and prepared for the sentencing of his brother. This would not be so easy as watching Cersei, he knew.

". . . Also known as the Kingslayer?"

"Yes, Your Grace, I was the one to push a sword through your grandfather's back."

"His own sworn kingsguard?"

"You Northern men do take your vows quite seriously," Jaime jested.

"You Lannisters don't seem to take your lives very seriously," Jon answered.

"My life is already gone. I personally fought against your lord brother, betrayed Lady Stark by failing to return Sansa to her, murdered your other kin, and I know your father—uncle, sorry, hated me. I am a talking dead man."

"An annoying one, too," Jon agreed.

"At least this King has a sense of humour," Jamie winked at his brother, who remained stony faced.

"Do you deny breaking your vows and bedding your sister, Cersei?"

"I do not."

"Do you deny supporting Tommen and Joffrey's claim to the throne, with the knowledge that they were your sons and no trueborn Baratheon?"

"I do not."

"Well, Jaime, you are infinitely more tolerable than your sister, who has been sentenced to death. You are quite lucky the Mother of Dragons is not here, else you may have suffered the same fate."

Tyrion was quite astonished to see that the news of Cersei's fate barely affected his brother, who only raised his eyebrows.

"By what means?"

"Drogon," Jon replied.

"Pleasant," Jaime commented.

"Jaime Lannister, you have admitted your crimes and shown humility. For that, I will spare you your life. However, you are not permitted to spend it here in Westeros. Your lord brother, my Hand has asked for mercy for you, therefore as punishment for your crimes, you are exiled from the Seven Kingdoms, you may stay here as a prisoner and travel with Queen Daenerys when she sets sail, or you may leave on the morrow, for Pentos, with one of your brother's knights, who will escort you to a living situation I'm sure you'll find tolerable."

"Y—yes, Your Grace. On the morrow," Jaime stuttered.

"Wise choice," Jon almost smiled, but remembered that he was a King. "Should word ever reach me that you are anywhere near my kingdoms however, I will feed you to Rhaegan. Or maybe Ghost."

"Understood, Your Grace."

"Take him away," Jon ordered.

Four Unsullied soldiers stepped forward to take Jaime away. Jon thought it was far too much, one Unsullied would be enough to escort the crippled Kingslayer. _I could've even let him go off by himself, what could he possibly do? He has no family, no money, no influence, not anymore._ For a moment, Jon was frightened he made the wrong choice. _He broke his vows and killed his king, my grandfather, he pushed Bran from a window, Father would have had him killed or sent to the Night's Watch. Any North man would've. Have I become soft, here in this sun?_ Jon almost had Jaime sent back in, so he could cut off the man's head, but stopped just as his lips were about to form the words. _I am not Eddard, I have broken vows too, and now I am King, sometimes vows need to be broken,_ his thoughts lingered on Ygritte, and the Mad King, how the man had enjoyed seeing people burnt alive. Just like Daenerys, or Melisandre, even. _Maybe the Mad King had needed to die_ , Jon thought, _not that I'll ever say that aloud. And when he pushed Bran . . . He was a different person back then, Tyrion said so, he was a Lannister then and now he is merely Jaime._ The punishment was just and merciful, Jon finalised, _just as I hope to be._

"Jaime will be no worry, Your Grace," Varys said. "His sentiments for his sister have faded and gone, he has lost his sword hand, and will probably spend his exile happily."

"Yes."

"And Daenerys will soon be there, to keep an eye," Tyrion added, sparing a glance towards Myrcella and Tommen who still stood shivering behind the curtains. He would've sent them away, but there was no servant whom he trusted not to harm them.

"She burned," Dany announced as she entered the room once more, a satisfied look upon her face. "Cersei Lannister is no more, and we can send her bones to Dorne, to quench the Sand Snake's thirst for vengeance, no?"

"Yes," Jon conceded grudgingly.

Already, he regretted his murder of Cersei. He knew he couldn't have allowed her to live, she would have never bent the knee, but he should've carried out the sentence, at least. _That's what Father would've done._ He misliked having Drogon do his killing, it was weak and Southern of him. _Don't worry,_ he told himself, _next time and all the other times, you will swing the sword_. Jon realised that Daenerys would have to leave if he wished to rule with the honourable customs of the North.

"Who's next?" She asked, taking her spot by his side.

"Margaery and Loras Tyrell," he replied.

"You sentenced the Kingslayer without me?"

"He has been exiled, and sails to Pentos tomorrow. Where he will come to no harm, Daenerys."

"He is a Lannister," she seethed.

"So is Tyrion."

"That was not justice," she argued. "That was your soft heart and Stark blood."

"Sometimes mercy is the better option, my dear aunt. He will cause no trouble, and will never get the chance to harm my family again."

" _Justice_ is always the better option."

"Maybe in Slaver's Bay, where you rule. But in my kingdom, I rule with a merciful heart," his tone invited no further discussion. "Bring the Tyrell's in."

As Jon expected, they were both slight, and beautiful. The epitome of the South. He was almost repulsed by the sight of them. _I fought the Other, Sam, Grenn, Pyp, we all fought them while these two stayed here, drinking their wine and tending to there gardens._

"Loras Tyrell, former Kingsguard to both Renly, Joffrey and Tommen. Do you deny your crimes of supporting Joffrey and Tommen's claim to the throne?"

"I do not, Your Grace," the boy answered.

"You have confessed your crimes and acted with humility, as punishment for your wrongdoings, you will pay the crown a sum of fifty thousand dragons," Jon knew it was an unusual punishment, but he had a feast to throw in a fortnight, and loath as he was to admit it, he needed Tyrell's money.

"I—er, yes Your Grace. I will have to speak with my lord father."

"Your lord father will see once we are done here, he has awaited your trial for months."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Take him to a guest chamber," Jon instructed. "Margeary," he started once her brother had left. "Your crimes are for more serious than that of your brother's. You are accused of adultery, and supporting both Tommen and Joffrey's claim to the throne."

"It is a pleasure to meet my new, aking, may your reign be long," she dipped a curtsy, causing Tyrion to compliment her smart thinking. "And of course th Mother of Dragons. Your beauty was not exaggerated, Lady Daenerys."

"Thanky you," Daenerys smiled. "How unfortunate that it seems yours has been."

Varys coughed and Jon mentally berated his aunt for her loose tongue. However, Margeary only smiled.

"I will not lie to Your Grace," her voice was almost musical, Jon thought. "I married both Joffrey and Tommen in hopes that I might one day see my children on the Iron Throne. My family encouraged this, as they thought the royal match would do our House well. Which is also why I married Renly, may his soul rest in peace, and the Mother have mercy," Jon noticed how she didn't wish for Joffrey's soul to lay peacefully.

"I am, however, guilty of supporting Tommen and Joffrey's claim. I did not commit adultery, Your Grace, I am still maiden. Renly was not interested in me, Joffrey died on our wedding day, and Tommen was but a boy. That was only a lie Cersei concocted, to have me imprisoned by the Faith."

Varys and Tyrion had both already told them this; Jon was grateful that he didn't have to discern whether she was lying or not. _I like her hair, it's so soft, and her eyes . . ._ Ygritte flashed in Jon's mind, and he pulled his thoughts away from Margeary's long, brown hair, and began to decide on her punishment. He knew there was nothing serious he could do; he needed her family's favour and money, and he wasn't a naïve boy desperately trying to make the world perfect anymore, he knew that sometimes people did things for the benefit of their families, for the benefit of themselves, and that this didn't necessarily make them evil Or bad. Only human. _She is but a girl, a maid of ten and eight, if I keep her here her family will surely rebel._

"You speak with an honest tongue, Lady Margeary," he said eventually. "I value honesty, even if the truth is not what I want to hear."

"I am glad, Your Grace, an honest king is exactly what the realm needs," she gave a small curtsy.

 _Ah, so this is how she charmed Joffrey._

"For your honesty and humility, I will grant you your freedom and have all three of your marriages annulled. You may return to your home in Highgarden, but you will not contact Tommen Lannister in any way shape or form."

"Much more than I deserve, Your Grace. Do I have leave to speak with my father?"

"Yes," and off she went, almost dancing out the room.

 _She reminds me of a flower._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello. I'm so surpised and happy at the response this story has received already, so thank you, lots and lots, it really brightens my day to see a new follower etc. I really hope you all like the story, so far, and that I don't end up messing up half way through. Just like to make a note that from now on, I'll be updating once or twice a week, while I try and pre-write ten or more chapters, in case I fall ill or loose my motivation, I'll still have ore-written chapters to post. Tell me if you think Jon is too OOC, it's been bothering me. Oh, and we'll see Sansa next chapter and Margaery the chapter after!**

* * *

 _Chapter Three_

 _Daenerys_

Ever since her birth, Daenerys had been raised believing that being a Targaryen was one of the best things she could ever achieve. Even when Viserys had died, and the true mental state of her father had been revealed to her, she still loved her name and her House, and vowed to make sure it was restored to its status once more. She certainly did not understand why Jon Snow, known as the _Bastard_ of Winterfell before meeting her, wanted to use his mother's name and stay a Stark, or a Snow when she had called the notion folly. She didn't understand why he fought against his inheritance and was reluctant to accept that he was blood of the dragon.

"May I speak with you, Jon?" She asked, once Margeary left.

"Of course," he said, giving Varys a look, which made the eunuch rise to leave.

"Come Tommen, Myrcella," Tyrion's niece and nephew emerged from behind the curtains, and momentarily all Dany saw was their mother's face in them. Her blood boiled until she saw Jon staring at her, reproach in his eyes.

"I see their mother in them," she said.

"Physically, yes. That does not mean they will grow to be like her."

"She is in their blood, they will inherit her traits whether they like it or not. You cannot fight your blood, Jon."

He sighed. "I am not fighting it, Dany. I know what I am, do I not refer to you as my aunt nearly always?"

"Only to irritate me," she replied. "You know what you are, but refuse to embrace it. Why do you wish be Stark and _only_ Stark? Is there something wrong with Targaryens?

"Due to the incest, half of them were mad. Like your father."

" _Your_ grandfather."

"Yes. But I also have a Stark grandfather who my Targaryen grandfather murdered. With wildfire."

Daenerys had not remembered that. "He was mad," she shrugged. "At the time, the Starks were nothing to us."

"Well they are everything to me, now."

"And what am I, Jon? What is our legacy? When we spoke at Winterfell, when we fought on the Wall, you told me you would help our House regain its greatness, you said we were kin."

"You are my aunt. You are family, Daenerys, you always will be. But I will always be a Stark first and foremost. I will always favour Winterfell over the Iron Throne. Always favour Ghost over Rhaegan. Always favour furs and snow over cloaks and sun. Always, Daenerys, and you will have to except that I am a Stark, before everything else."

She sucked in a breath. The words hurt to hear. In her heart, she knew they were true, she knew it was futile even trying to have him give up his childhood home and the name he had longed for ever since birth, so soon, at least.

"It seems you will never be a Targaryen. That is all I wanted, Jon. Someone to share my family with. You know I am barren—" she paused to think of Rhaegon and Drogo for a moment. "You are my only family. Even Aemon is gone."

"You _can_ share it with me," he insisted. "I will never be as Targaryen as you, but in time, I will grow into the name. Three months ago, I'd have never agreed to have someone killed by fire, never agreed to add Targaryen onto my name. It's a work in progress, Dany."

Daenerys liked hearing Jon call her Dany, it made her feel closer to him, as if somehow, she could mean as much to him as Arya, Bran and Robb did. She knew Sansa and him were not close at all, and already had grown to resent the girl, said to be the prettiest maid alive, she used that fact to console herself when she remembered that within a week or so, the maid would be at the Red Keep. But nothing could console her when she stumbled upon Jon weeping or praying for Arya, when she saw the pained expression on his face at mention of the cripple, Bran. _Maybe I am pushing to hard, he will grow into his name, I will pray to the Seven for it, he may have spent twenty years as a Stark but he will spend the next sixty as a Targaryen._

"It would help me if you didn't so obviously favour the North," she said. "In my presence, at least."

"I will try," he smiled ruefully, and Daenerys' heart fluttered. How could she argue with him? Broken and pained as he was?

 _He is doing the best he can with the throne he didn't want. If I fix him, possibly he will come out of this stupor and realise that hanging on to Winterfell won't bring his old life back._

Daenerys knew just how to do it.

"And I will try to accept that you are still half Stark. I will send some of my talented knights to search for your sister Arya."

"Daenerys—"

"I _want_ to. Technically, she is my blood too. In a way," Daenerys was jealous of Arya, yes, but she didn't hate the girl, not the way she did Sansa, and from what she'd heard, she was much more enjoyable than her sister. "Varys said he'd last heard words in Braavos, yes? My Unsullied won't know how to navigate there, but I could send Ser Barristan. And Ser Jorah," she cringed at his name.

"Ser Barristan is one of the most valiant soldiers of your guard, you need him. And I thought you exiled ser Jorah?"

"From Mereen. Not Westeros. And I can live without Ser Barristan for a few months. I will be perfectly safe here, until he returns."

"Well, he is exiled from here also, for slaving."

"You can turn a blind eye, I'm sure."

"Why? Why would you help me find Arya?"

"Because I love you, Jon," Daenerys had come to the realisation weeks earlier, when she found that she was willing to leave one her precious dragons in his care. "And you love her. Therefore, her safety is important to me. Above all else, us Targaryens are loyal."

"Yes," Jon said. "We are."

 _III_

 _Jon_

A week and a half had passed since Daenerys had promised Jon she would have Arya found, and three days since Ser Barristan had set sail, with a signed letter from Jon stating he was doing the King's bidding. The knight had refused to travel with Ser Jorah and Dany had seemingly respected his wishes. It wasn't until earlier that day, when a raven from her banished knight had reached the Red Keep that Jon realised the meant to send both knights looking for Arya. It was then, that Jon realised Daenerys truly did care for him. _She hates those who betray her, and Ser Jorah's had hurt most of all, Tyrion told me, yet she is willing to invite him back for me. For Arya._ Jon had then decided that he would stop keeping Daenerys at arm length, for fear of loving her too much and getting hurt. I wouldn't mind being hurt by Dany. _If I will accept Sansa and name her princess, after how she and her mother treated me, I will accept Dany fully and name her princess too._

"Lord Tyrion," Jon greeted his Hand and friend jovially.

"Your Grace," the Imp returned, shocked and happy to see his good friend in such a bright mood. Jon had tried hard to hide his grief and obvious sadness, but lately Tyrion had noticed that he didn't seem to have to try so hard.

"How is Tommen?" Strangely, Jon found that he harboured no ill will for his former king. _The boy is barely nine, once married and still a virgin, and clearly of passive nature._

"Shaken, admittedly, without his mother, and confused that Robert is no longer his father."

A pang of guilt arose in Jon's chest. A few days before, he had had Tommen and his sister presented at the sept and named bastards borne of Lannister incest in front of the entire city. As expected, and wanted Jon supposed, the city had thrown every insult and form of abuse their way, and even called that Tyrion was the only good Lannister left. The Imp had laughed at that. Many Great Lords had sent letter congratulating Jon on his fine ruling and just punishment for those who needed it. The ceremony was needed, if Jon wanted to ensure the children posed no threat to his throne, but it made it no easier to endure.

"How does he feel about suddenly having an uncle become one?"

"Funnily, that is the only part he seems to like. He says he wants to swap Jaime with me so I can be his father."

"I imagine that warmed your heart."

"Fouled my mouth," the dwarf said. "Me bed _Cersei_? Daenerys would kill her dragons before I ever thought of doing that."

Jon laughed. "I hope you kept that particular opinion to yourself."

"I did, indeed. With much struggle."

"Have you chosen anyone to rule Casterly Rock in your stead?"

"Bronn was my first choice, but upon sobriety, I realised my uncle Kevan might be a better one."

Jon had freed the man three days prior and even allowed him to return to his home to live the rest of his days. His one condition had been that the man would hold no power, however.

"The small council won't like it," Jon said.

"I can handle not pleasing Varys."

" _I_ won't like it."

"My uncle is no threat. A man of duty and honour."

"A Lannister."

"That name seems to have become synonymous with utter and complete prick."

Jon laughed again. "Send Bronn. I can't let the people think I am too soft."

Tyrion sighed, knowing Jon wouldn't have relented. The city would begin to think that Tyrion ruled, and was only using Jon as a figurehead. "Fine. Don't come crying to me when he manages to turn the place into a broke brothel."

"I won't."

"Your sister is two days away, Varys tells me."

"I know."

"You do not mean to host a celebration upon her return?"

"I have feast prepared for the people the day after she comes. I will make an announcement. Then the day after that, I am being coronated. That is celebration enough, I think."

"I see you have been letting Daenerys in your ear."

 _He know me so well._ _Varys may be the Master of Whisperers, but Tyrion is surely the Master of all things me._ Although Varys seemed to know everything, it was often Tyrion Jon went to for advice or honest counsel. The dwarf had never led him wrong and treated him like family, and had a quick and cunning mind which had often saved Jon and sometimes Daenerys' life. Of course Tyrion would know that Jon had finally let Daenerys into his life, let her words have influence over him.

"Nothing she tells me is untrue."

"She is turning you against Sansa, for no reason besides her own jealousy."

"All my life, Sansa and her mother scorned me, treated me as if I were the one who forced my father to sire a bastard. I ran to the _Wall_ because of them—"

"But now that is over, for you are King and Catelyn is dead. Sansa is but a child, a maid of five and ten. Not overly cunning, but smart and a Stark nonetheless, which means she is a survivor. It would not bode well for you to create an enemy of her."

Jon scoffed. "She is a broken shell of a girl. I will name her Princess, allow her to live here, and marry her to someone suitable once she comes of age. What else would she need?"

"Her brother," Tyrion said simply. "I sympathise Jon, trust me, I know what it is like to have your own family against you. But look how it boded for Cersei and my lord father? Both dead. It would pain me to see you suffer the same fate."

"Sansa will not kill me, she is—"

"She _was_. Now, she is a girl who has suffered, spent a considerable amount of time under Littlefinger at the Vale, where I hazard he has made her much more aware. If you mistreat her, she may betray you. If you are kind, she will worship you. Trust me."

"I have my dragon—"

" _Jon_ ," Tyrion turned to face his King, even going as far as to grip his hands. "Daenerys is a fierce woman, not easily fooled, but she has only Targaryen blood in her. The blood of the Mad King. Surely, you must see that her counsel is not one you should take lightly. Those dragons, belong to her. You have your direwolf. Sansa no longer has hers, it was killed by her betrothed. Do you forget? I am not telling you to love the girl as you do your aunt, but do not mistreat her. Are you listening to me, Jon?"

Jon shook his hands out of Tyrion's grip and strode away. _Of course I am listening to you, who else do I listen to?_ But he could not say that for fear of Varys' spies seeing and reporting it back to him. As much as Daenerys trusted and admired the spider, Jon was wary of the man, and reluctant to put his complete trust in him, as Daenerys had, even if he claims he has been protecting me ever since he learnt of my parentage.

Once at the godswood, Jon prayed for the safety of his family by listing their names as he always had. Arya, Bran, Rickon, Tyrion, Sam, Daenerys, Ghost, Rhaegal, Gilly and her babe, usually he would never utter Sansa's name, and instead place her under the umbrella of 'and the rest of mine own kin', but Tyrion was not someone Jon chose to ignore. Today he added his eldest sister's name, and prayed for her life and wellbeing, and that she might settle at the Red Keep peacefully.

At that night's small council meeting, Jon was glad to hear that Smalljon Umber had set sail with Eddard Karstark, Galbert Glover and Lady Kara Mormont, who Jon remembered fighting fiercely against the Others and showing up every day to help rebuild Winterfell and not leaving till late at night. Daenerys had finally gotten round to bestowing upon him two of her Unsullied guards: Storm and Rice, the latter being one of Jon's previous companions and the only few people who Rhaegal allowed to touch him, and he knighted them right there, presenting them both with their white cloaks. Daenerys laughed when they asked if they were to kill her if ever they thought her a threat to Jon's life. Her laugh increased in volume when Tyrion promptly answered 'yes'.

"I trust chambers for Princess Sansa have been readied, and the two handmaidens ready for her service?" Jon questioned.

"Aye, Your Grace, though your choice in handmaidens confuses me."

 _It was supposed to,_ Jon thought, _because the ones you offered are your spies, and I will not have a Stark under the thumb of the likes of you._

"These two will do. They and their fathers travelled with me from the North, they are honourable women who will provide Princess Sansa with a sense of home," _and they are under my payment, my spies Baelish, not yours._

"A wise choice, Your Grace," Varys said, silently complimenting the man on his ability to see through Littlefinger.

It had taken him a while, Varys noted, but King Jon, first of his name, had begun to play the game, and he seemed quite competent at it too, Varys smiled, he may prove a better king than the eunuch had thought. It was not often the realm was granted a king who could also play the game.

" _Princess_ Sansa?" Daenerys asked.

"She is the King's sister," Tyrion answered, rather sharply. "So she is a Princess."

"The King's _cousin_ ," Daenerys corrected. "So she is a Lady."

"Threatened?" Tyrion teased.

"By Sansa? Not at all. I am Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Shackles, current heir to the Iron Throne and Lady of House Targaryen," her playful smile indicated that Daenerys was only joking.

"If the games are now over," Jon interrupted, though he was smiling. "Sansa will be granted title of Princess, as will Arya once she's found, and Bran and Rickon Princes if they choose, though Bran may want to be known only as Lord of Winterfell."

"The last shipments of gold raided from Lannisport and the Iron Islands have proved sufficient enough to pay the Crown's debt to the Iron Bank. All that remains is the interest, which I'm sure Mace Tyrell will cover in exchange for Princess Sansa's hand in marriage for his son," Varys announced. "All the Great Lord's except Lord Tyrion have forgiven the Crown of all debt in exchange for peace and prosperity. All that is left is a measly thirty thousand golden dragons for the Iron Bank's interest, which I'm sure Lord Baelish can pull out from somewhere before he leaves," the statement caused Petyr to laugh his raspy laugh, before promising to do so before his departure. Jon was still not sure whether he should allow the man to return and undoubtedly rule the Vale. _Maybe I could send Rickon there once he comes of age, if the boy Robin dies as everyone thinks he will . . ._

"Mine goes without saying, Varys," Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Though Sansa marrying a Tyrell may not be such a bad idea. Not as great as a royal marriage, but not too bad. More than House Tyrell should expect."

"Speaking of lord's," Jon said. "I forgot to name you lord, Varys. Daenerys says she wouldn't mind giving you some of House Targaryen's lands for your help in our cause."

"You might even rule in my stead once I return to Mereen, until Jon's second babe is born."

Varys looked pleasantly surprised. "I fear I must refuse, Your Graces."

"You fear nothing," Littlefinger muttered.

"I wish to serve the throne and King, nothing else."

"If you're sure, Varys?" Daenerys said.

"I am."

"Then that is all," Jon concluded. "Once my Kingsguard reach, and the Citadel send a Maester, I will officially announce you as my small council."

"Who will I be replaced by, Your Grace?" Petyr inquired.

"I hoped to ask Prince Doran," Jon replied, further startling Varys. "Daenerys is fond of Dorne, and their loyalty to the throne has always been weak. The offer will show that I think highly of them, and the bones of Cersei Lannister shall please those Sand Snakes."

"Clever thinking, Your Grace," Littlefinger said, displeased that true admiration was evident in his voice.

"And what of Master of laws?" Daenerys said. "And ships? We will need more ships in order for me to take my Unsullied to Dragonstone, and still have some left for the royal fleet. And—"

"The best sailors are rumoured to be at Storm's End with Stannis' daughter. In a month's time, I will go, and seek my master."

"You seem to have thought this through," Tyrion commented.

"Long and hard," agreed Jon. "Once all this hard work is done, I can get to the drinking and whoring," Jon jested.

"As they say," Littlefinger grinned. "Hard work pays off."

III

Varys

 _I am so pleased, so very pleased,_ were the thought in Varys' head as he padded softly towards his chambers. _He is not great, but he is learning._ The small council meeting—in Varys' opinion—had gone well. Exceedingly well. Slowly, Jon was beginning to rule as a King should, didn't rely on his Hand to do all his work, placed his own network of spies around his castle. Not nearly as many as Varys, or as loyal, but his numbers had long surpassed Petyr, whose time in the Vale had diminished his influence in the Red Keep, and beginning to match that of Tyrion's. If he keeps this up the realm may just have some peace in their hands. Varys would still have preferred to have had Daenerys rule, the peace may have taken a while to reach and quite a but of work to sustain, considering the woman's temper and stubbornness, but he had much more influence over Daenerys than Jon. Also, she had much less honour and sense of morality than her nephew, and a firm sense of her own justice which he thought would've made her a better player at the game. Still, he was starting to find that he liked the Northman much more than he believed he would, and come to find that like his father, he had an affinity for ruling, whereas Daenerys had an affinity for conquering. He had been silly to confuse the two. _And he is learning to play the game._ This thought pleased Varys more than words could describe, he only hoped that Jon would come to trust him as he trusted Tyrion. _I could help him, lead him._ Tyrion was cunning and clever, Varys admitted, but the man still lacked the sly and careful thinking that Varys possessed.

 _Ah, the King is still young, he may come to trust me yet. First though, I must find Brandon and Rickon._


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

 _Sansa_

 _I cannot believe I am back here, after waiting so long to leave, here I am back in the Red Keep._ Sansa had to continuously remind herself that this time, she was not a prisoner, she was the King's sister— _cousin_ —and the only Queen was the Mother of Dragon's who freed slaves. She isn't Cersei. And Jon isn't Joff.

Sansa had been dreading her return for weeks. She didn't like the Vale, and loathed having to pretend to love Petyr. She had thanked her father's god's all night when Jon was crowned King and ordered for all living Starks be returned to him, in time for her not to go through with the marriage Petyr had organised. _I may have hated him, but he taught me much, how to read between the lines._ Sansa was glad of that at least, she planned to use all Petyr had taught her to protect herself; particularly from him and his warped obsession with her and her mother.

 _Still, I will miss Robin, though he was sickly and annoying._ Sansa wore her aunt Lysa's prettiest dress, the light blue brought out the blue in her eyes. _My Tully eyes._ Her Tully eyes would not save her now, Sansa thought, Jon will look at them and see my mother, who despised him. Despite what her actions may have said, Sansa had never hated Jon, not the way her mother had. _I was foolish and naïve, believing that being a proper lady was all that mattered. So stupid._ Because of her childish actions, and belief that she was better than her family because she knew how to sit properly and flutter her lashes, she was now at the mercy of her bastard brother she'd ignored, who'd turned out to be the last Targeryen, and her king. _I always wanted to be a royal,_ she thought dryly.

"Lady Sansa, you have been summoned by King Jon," Rice, one of her cousin's kingsguard told her, without ever looking her in the eye.

 _He is one of Jon's aunt's men,_ Sansa quickly became wary, _those Unsullied from Astapor who feel no pain and are loyal till death. There are six thousand of them here . . . Petyr was right, Jon and the Mother of Dragons have truly taken over._ The last thought Sansa had before she entered her cousin's throne room was that Arya would've loved to see Jon's dragons.

"Rice presents Lady Sansa, prisoner of Littlefinger in the Vale, and King Jon Stark Targaryen's cousin," Sansa flinched at hearing Jon's new name. _He will kill me for sure . . . Feed me to his dragon like he did Cersei._

"Welcome back, Princess Sansa," Tyrion surprised her by saying, a warm smile on his face.

 _Tyrion was nice to me once, hopefully he can convince the King to grant me a painless death, I hear they are like kin now._

"I am no Princess, my lord, just a Stark of Winterfell," she bowed her head. "Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace," she said to Jon.

He sat upon the Iron Throne, the epitome of regal, his infamous sword Longclaw lay across his knee and Ghost stood at his feet, almost as tall as Sansa herself. For some reason, she liked seeing the fearsome wolf at the throne. _He looks nothing like Joffrey did . . ._ A feeling of warmth rushed through her, at seeing the North here in Cersei's home.

Beside him stood Varys, who watched her with a look of indifference. _He will think I am a spy for Petyr._ Sansa had no intention of remaining Petyr's 'ward', she couldn't wait until he returned back to the Vale and she could be rid of him forever. She smiled at The Spider anyways, she was in no position to look down her nose at people anymore. _Anyhow, he was a good friend to have and a bad enemy,_ she could tell that much from who sat the Iron Throne now and who had been fed to the dragons.

Finally, Sansa met the stone hard eyes of Daenerys Targaryen. _She is more scary than beautiful._ Sansa didn't know why she was surprised. _She has dragons, three of them, to whom she feeds her enemies, and she is Jon's aunt, she must hate me for how I treated him. . . I'm going to perish today._

"How was your voyage?" Jon asked.

"Fine, Your Grace," Sansa replied, confused.

"And your time in the Vale?"

Sansa hesitated. "Fine, as well Your Grace."

"Still a terrible liar," Tyrion chuckled, causing Sansa to stiffen.

 _It is only because I am nervous, and have not had time to practise it._

"I am only nervous, my lord," she said.

"And still hides behind all those courtesies."

"Tyrion," Jon said warningly.

"Your sister knows I only jape. We were man and wife, once."

"Don't remind me," Jon said. "And Princess Sansa is my cousin."

"An easy mistake to make, I'm sure Your Grace would agree."

"Well I do not, Lord Tyrion. It has been nearly a year since Jon was announced as a Targaryen," Daenerys' voice froze Sansa's insides. " _Lady_ Sansa, it has come to my knowledge that you were _quite_ the the little madam in your childhood."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Lady Daen—"

"You will call me Your Grace."

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," _will Jon not come to my defence? Of course not, when did I ever go to his?_

"Since you don't understand, Lady Sansa, I will explain; is it true that you treated the King disgracefully while he resided with your family at Winterfell?"

"Daenerys—" Tyrion started.

"Let her answer the Queen's question, lord," Jon snapped.

"I—er, I—Your Grace I—" Sansa stammered.

"No words?" Daenerys taunted. "Not even an apology for the King you looked down your powdered little nose at for being a bastard? Something he had no control of? Explain to me, Lady Sansa, how it was Jon's fault that at the time you believed your father had slept with someone other than Catelyn Tully?"

Daenerys' words cut through the maid like ice, she shivered and felt her stomach clench and her fingers tremble. _Oh gods, I have become like Robin._ Sansa had no explanation; she had merely ignored him because back then she was silly and stupid. The new Queen's words made her feel like the worst person alive, she couldn't help but wonder why her mother had despised Jon all these years since it was Ned's fault the boy had lived. _No, I mustn't begin doubting my lady mother. . ._ Sansa wanted to draw herself high, and tell Daenerys that she was no Queen but only a savage's widow, yet as she stared into the violet eyes of her, she couldn't help but be reminded of Cersei. _They both have blonde hair, they're both Queen's, but this one has three dragons and the love of the kingdom._

"It was not the King's fault," Sansa stuttered.

"No, you're right. It was your father's fault. _Ned Stark_ ," Danerys spat.

Sansa flinched again. _Your father was the Mad King, she wanted scream, he burnt my uncle and grandfather alive!_ But she couldn't. "But Your Grace, the king was not my father's bastard after all. He is son of Prince Rhaegar."

"Thank the gods," Daenerys laughed. "You are dreadfully _boring_ , Lady Sansa. You stand here and simper, do not even say a word in either of your parent's defence. No wonder you liked the other one better, Jon."

"Enough, now, Dany," Jon said lowly.

 _I always knew he preferred Arya, she didn't treat him like the dirt underneath her shoe. So why does it still hurt to hear it?_

"I apologise for treating you the way I did," Sansa found the courage to say. "I was young and childish and naïve, with no understanding of how you might have felt. That does not excuse my actions, I know but—"

"But?" Daenerys interrupted.

"Daenerys," Jon growled.

"But I've learnt now, and—" she sucked in a breath. "While you were at the Wall I missed you unbelievably, Your Grace. I am no longer your sister, and I don't deserve to be, but, we are the last Starks, and we should stick together."

"I cannot believe this, _he is a Tar_ —"

"Daenerys, stop. You've had your fun, remember that she is a child and the current Lady of Winterfell, and Warden of the North."

 _Am I?_

"Lady Sansa, you are not on trial here, you need not cower at my feet, I am not Joffrey. I called you here to introduce you to my small council, and my aunt: Daenerys Stormborn, Lady of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and Queen of Slaver's Bay," the small council chuckled collectively, and Sansa realised this must have been how Arya felt when she excluded her from her friend's circles back at Winterfell.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"You may call me Jon, we are cousins, are we not?"

Sansa allowed herself a tentative smile. "Thank you."

"Rice and Storm will escort you to your chambers, where your two handmaidens wait. You may remain at King's Landing or you can return to the North, though the castle is only half built. Please feel free to come and go as you please."

"Thank you, Your—Jon."

"And Sansa—" Tyrion called after her. "Margaery Tyrell remains here, I know you two were rather close while she was betrothed to Joffrey. I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking you to Highgarden with her for a few weeks, as she promised all those moths ago."

Sansa curtsied once more and left, thinking that Margaery Tyrell might be just what she needed. _Though, I'm not sure want to see anyone who had anything to do with Joffrey._ What she really wanted was to erase all those years that she'd excluded Arya, ignored the existence of Jon, and fawned over Joffrey. Being alone had taught Sansa that all that mattered was the game and your family, even if at one point they were baseborn and ugly.

 _How did Lord Tyrion know about Margaery's promise to me? He must have spies, too._

Sansa really did not want to play the game of politics that infested King's Landing, she wanted to be a child, she wanted to go back to Winterfell, and most of all, she wanted her family back. Even Jon . . .

 _III_

 _Jon_

 _Sansa truly is the copy of her mother, beautiful and polite._ Jon himself had been the one to allow Daenerys permission to speak to Sansa the way she had, against Varys and Tyrion's advice; he had wanted to hear Sansa explain, squirm under the wrath of Daenerys, but seeing her flushed face, the obvious fear in those blue eyes of hers, the way she had eyed Ghost, he had remembered that she was still a child, still a maid, still his family. He couldn't deny that a surge of smugness and satisfaction had raced through him hearing Sansa finally admit that it was not his fault he'd been born a bastard, but afterwards, when he'd heard her say that she missed him, Jon had only wanted to pull her into his arms and hug her the way he had Myrcella and Tommen.

"I don't like or trust her," Daenerys was saying.

"Daenerys, stop this petty jealousy and think," Tyrion was insisting. "If you turn Sansa against Jon, she could revolt."

Jon snorted. "Sansa? Once I find a way to get rid of Baelish, she'll have no semblance of power except what I grant her."

"I can't help but agree with His Grace," Varys said. "From what I can tell, she detests Lord Baelish and only wishes to live in peace after what happened with Joffrey."

"How can you possibly know?" Daenerys demanded.

"My birds sing songs from all over, my Queen," the man replied simply.

 _I should really acquire some birds of my own._

"Daenerys, you've said what needed to be said, she has apologised and now all we can do is watch her and treat her courteously. She is family, and I won't abuse her. Nor will you," Jon's voice was firm.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to befriend her," Daenerys said.

"Of course not," Jon answered. "If you can't be nice, then ignore her. Her chambers are well away from yours and the dragons."

Daenerys made no reply, so Jon understood that she agreed. _Good, that's one problem solved._ He quickly went on to discuss his feast for the next day, and the urgent matter of getting more ships, so that Daenerys could arrange for a fleet to accompany her to Dragonstone. Tyrion suggested asking the Iron Born, whereas Varys said they must flatter Mace Tyrell into giving them eighty of his, and Shireen Baratheon fifty of hers. Jon decided to heed Varys' advice against Tyrion's, mostly because he wanted no contact with the Iron Born after the betrayal of Theon. _At least I got to watch him burn too._ He even pondered the idea of naming Mace Tyrell Master of Ships as a further flattery to the man. _If I can persuade Sansa to marry his heir, and put him on the small council, he cannot deny me even all his ships._ Mace Tyrell, it seemed, was an easy man to use. The meeting was on the verge of its end, when Varys spontaneously shared his new whispers which put Jon in a joyful mood that lasted days.

 _III_

 _Varys_

 _Yes, the birds have sung and it seems they sing the song of Prince Rickon Stark and his direwolf, who has been a terror to the people of the Neck._ Presenting the good news to King Jon had provided Varys with a pleasure he'd never hoped to find again. _I did not even realise that I truly cared for this king._ Varys had been watching Jon's movements closely, closer than he should, when he had Petyr to watch and Bran Stark to find, but he did it nonetheless. And what he'd seen had impressed him; _such a long time since a king has impressed me._ Jon was not the brightest man, during his time with Daenerys and Tyrion he had become much more well read than he'd once been, but even that compared to his friend Samwell Tarly was still surprisingly little. _It is him, the way he thinks, how he's lived,_ Varys concluded, _that makes him such a good king._ He was not perfect, Jon still had much to learn, such as not allowing personal matters to intervene with his rule, and realising that Daenerys Targaryen was not someone whose words he should always listen to. Varys was upset to admit it, but he'd come to find that Daenerys may have caused disaster sat on the Iron Throne. She was kind-hearted enough and inspired loyalty, but alas, she was a firm believer in her own justice, and still harboured hard feelings for all the Great Lords of Westeros, it seemed, for rebelling against her madman of a father. Jon was calmer, more inclined to thought than action, despite his obvious gift with a sword. _He is fresh, and still stuck in the North and on the Wall, and needs a tighter grip on his little birdies, but he is no Robert, no Cersei and certainly no Aerys. I will make him great._ The eunuch smiled widely as he ordered Baelish to have Rickon and his companions brought to King's Landing, hinting falsely that it might bring Jon to his side, for Bran will most likely be with him, and Jon loves his brother dearly.

 _III_

 _Jon_

Feeling thoroughly exhausted, Jon walked down his halls as Tyrion continued the rest of the trials in his name, despite the one thing he vowed he would never do was allow his Hand to rule while he slept and drank and fucked, the way Robert had, Tyrion had managed to assure Jon that having him conduct the trials of minor lords and knights who'd supported House Lannister was exactly what a Hand was for, that no man could rule twenty four seven, which is why the king has a small council. Eventually, Tyrion persuaded Jon to take the rest of the day to sleep, while he sentenced the Kettleblack's and the Oakhearts, and any other prisoner he could manage who was still lurking in their cells. We cannot afford to feed them any longer, and soon enough even Daenerys' Unsullied will grow tired of guarding them, Tyrion had said. _It is only one day, tomorrow I will make up for it with my feast for the people._ Jon had Initially planned to take Ghost for a walk, talk to a few of his City Guard— _ah, yes I meed to scour them too, put a few more northmen there and get rid of the cravens_ —yet his feet took him to the side of the castle reserved for guests. _I will just speak with Mace then, while he still resides here,_ yet he walked straight past the Great Lord's chambers and towards his daughter's instead. _I only want to hear her version of how cruel Joffrey actually was, it will help me understand Sansa,_ the lie sounded weak to even Jon's ears, but it did not stop him from tapping against her door.

"Y-Your Grace," a handmaid stammered as she opened the door.

"Gladys," somehow, he remembered her name. "Is Lady Margaery available?"

"For you, of course," the Lady in question smiled as she appeared at the door.

 _A flower . . . I should have brought flowers._

"Lady Margaery," Jon said gruffly, wondering why, exactly, he had sought out this Southern maid of no consequence to him. "Might I speak with you a moment?"

"Surely," she answered. "Gladys, why don't you go and fetch me and the King some blackberry juice?"

The maid scuttled away, and Jon stood awkwardly by Margaery's bed, gripping his sword tightly, wishing he had at least gotten Ghost before coming here.

"Your Grace?"

"I want to know more about how Joffrey treated my cousin."

"Oh," for a moment, Margaery's cheery, sweet smile faltered. "He was a very strong willed young boy, Your Grace."

"And how was his treatment towards my cousin?"

"Not very pleasant, Your Grace, he was cruel and had his kingsguard beat Princess Sansa whenever your lord brother—cousin, sorry, won a battle against his grandfather."

Jon mulled over her words, he hadn't expected to learn anything on his pointless trip here, but he'd never know about that. He'd assumed that the Lannister bastard had simply ignored and humiliated his cousin, and chopped Ned Stark's head off, of course he had known that Joffrey had been physically cruel towards Sansa, but not so often or by seasoned knights. _And craven enough to have grown men do his work for him. I will take Sansa with me,_ he decided, suddenly feeling affection for his eldest cousin he hadn't known he could muster and anger towards Joffrey he thought he'd long let go off.

"And you, my Lady?"

"Pardon, Your Grace?"

"How did he treat you?"

Her mouth opened, but no words emerged, Jon had caught her off guard twice, he mentally congratulated himself, considering it quite a feat to render a girl known for her politically savy mind and charm, speechless.

"He was . . . He was not cruel to me, as he was Sansa. In a perverse way, I fear he liked me, I made him feel like the man he wasn't. He didn't have time to be cruel to me, I suppose, since grandmother—" she paused suddenly. "Beg pardon, Your Grace, I have rambled."

"No, no," Jon already knew of Lady Olenna's and Littlefinger's joint murder of Joffrey. The fifteen year old Jon Snow eager to emulate his lord father had ached to punish the two for kinglsaying, but after thinking upon it with a pragmatic and realistic mind, he'd realise he should be thanking both of them of ridding his sister— _cousin_ and the realm of such a horrid boy. _Plus, I couldn't very well expect Lady Olenna to let her sweet granddaughter marry such a boy, not after seeing how he treated his last betrothed._ "You have not," he further assured her.

"Good," her smile lit up her face once more, and Jon had to pry his eyes away from it. _I took my vows_ , he almost thought, till he remembered the vows meant nothing now, as Jon Snow had took them, not Jon Stark Targaryen, the King, who if he hoped for someone decent to take the throne, would have to marry and father sons. _But I cannot have her, I will have a woman of the North, not a cunning little rose who's already been married thrice._

"Princess Sansa has arrived here and my council has suggested she might like a familiar face," Jon said. "I understand you had promised to take her to Highgarden with you. A change in scenery might do her good, once she becomes bored here," _or memory's of Joffrey begin to haunt her._

"Oh yes," the girl beamed. "She'll love it, Your Grace, though my father and brother planned to set sail on the morrow."

 _Oh, I remember, Mace had said he'd wanted to see his daughter-in-law on the verge of giving birth the other day . . . I didn't think he'd leave so suddenly after giving me the golden dragons for the flower knight . . ._

"I see," Jon said. "Are you excited to return?"

"Most certainly, Your Grace, the castle is so empty and I barely ever see anyone," _this smile is different . . . younger, somehow._ "I cannot wait to see my cousins again."

 _Cousins, cousins, cousins . . . Ah, yes, the ones Cersei had imprisoned. I must have freed them immediately, they were so young._

"Seems as if I must see Highgarden for myself, one of these days."

"Oh you must, Your Grace," Margaery exclaimed happily. "My lord father would be so pleased to have you, as would my grandmother."

 _Yes, the Queen of Thorns, he almost said that,_ but then thought _, and the woman who went to all lengths to protect her granddaughter._

"You must not tempt me, my lady," Jon chuckled. "I may just stow myself on your ship."

Margaery's laughs reminded Jon of the bells that used to ring at Winterfell. "Yes, I do miss Highgarden so, though. . . " her voice trailed off.

"Though?"

"Well," she hesitated, but Jon feared this was planned. _And I was so enjoying speaking with the real Margaery._ "I do not wish to face my mother. She will insist I see all the lords in Westeros in a bid to have me married before it is remembered that I have married thrice, already. And my grandmother will be unhappy that I allowed myself to be imprisoned."

"I hardly think that your fault, my lady," Jon said.

"No, but I should've known Cersei would be up to something. If you had not prevailed, Your Grace, I may well be dead or imprisoned for life."

"Well, I certainly couldn't have that, could I," _I must take the power away from the Faith, they are far too much like Daenerys._ "And you can always tell your mother that you still grieve."

"For who? Joffrey?" Margaery laughed. "Even if I did, that would not be acceptable. Grieving for a Lannister is treason, and we must _always_ remain loyal to the winning side," she said sardonically.

Jon digested her words. _Maybe I am still speaking with the real Margaery, surely the charming one would still be sprinkling 'Your Grace' into every sentence and fluttering those eyes of hers._ "I would not consider it treason, though, if you did miss him, I may have to ask a few questions."

"Fear not, I am glad to be rid of him. Though Tommen was much more agreeable. A baby, yes, but he was sweet."

"Yes," Jon's voice hardened slightly. "He asks after you."

"Aw," she cooed. "He will soon forget me. He has his sister now, and I'm sure once the lords come flocking they'll bring their daughters with them."

"Yes, he and Myrcella are inseparable."

"They remind me of Loras and I."

 _And I of Arya, and Robb and Bran. . . At least I will have Rickon. I can raise him, as a thank you to his father for raising me._

"Your Grace?"

Jon was startled from his thoughts. "Yes, sorry."

"Do not apologise, I was only making sure I hadn't bored you to death, Your Grace."

"No, I just wondered whether you would consider remaining here for a while longer?"

"In King's Landing?"

"Yes. To keep Sansa company, and delay having to deal with your mother."

"My brothers always said avoiding a problem only made it worse, Your Grace."

"Yes, my father said something similar."

"Would my father have to stay?"

"No, Lord Tyrell can of course return home to see the birth of his grandchild," Jon suddenly realised Margaery might want to see the birth of her niece or nephew too, and quickly added, "You could invite all your cousins to court. Sansa might want the company of other girls until, the lords come flocking, did you say?"

Margaery giggled. "You are too kind, but instead of all my cousins, maybe just one and my grandmother, as well, Your Grace?"

 _The Queen of Thorns in my court. . . I would need to find more spies and birds, and carry my own flask of drink with me too, and consult with Tyrion and Varys, most likely._ Jon knew he had let Margaery's laugh and smile enchant him, he tried to convince himself that Mace Tyrell had already come and gone, his old mother would be no problem. Daenerys might even like her, a strong woman, if her alias says anything about her. He knew he should say no, that he'd have to ask his small council first, but instead, he thought about how nice conversation with her had been, once she'd dropped the sickly sweet smiles and the 'Your Grace's' and instead said yes.

"Of course. Lady Olenna is most welcome."

"Oh thank you, Your Grace," she squealed. "I could hug you!"

"It is my pleasure," Jon replied, but took a step away from her.

I _must remember who I am, where I'm from, and who I trust. A Stark of Winterfell, the North and Tyrion, Daenerys and sometimes Varys._ Jon had come to instinctively shy away from women, he liked to tell himself it was because he still fancied himself a member of the Night's Watch, but deep down he knew it was Ygritte. Their love had been short, and now, rather blurred in his memory, but he couldn't deny that even thinking of her hair, or voice as she declared that he knew nothing, made his heart pain and head hurt. He had told himself, that he'd marry a strong, honourable woman from the North, once he became Lord of Winterfell, someone worthy to replace Ygritte in his life. But he'd never found that girl, not in the North. They were all cold, bungled up in furs, with a streak of wildness that reminded him far too much of Ygritte in a very painful way. Not the way Margaery does, she is beautiful, and has that streak of wildness in her too, obviously strong, and she does not remind me of Ygritte the way Dacey Mormont did. _Still_ , Jon thought, _I shouldn't even entertain this thought, Margaery is thrice married already and all to my enemies, she is too . . . tainted for me. I will have to find someone else. When the time comes._ And for Jon, the time didn't seem to be coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Just to make it clear, since I know some of you aren't to trusting of Margaery: she isn't lying when she says she doesn't want to marry for politics or social standing anymore. Thanks for the favs/follows/reviews, they really make my day. Expect an update on Thursday/Friday.**

* * *

 _Chapter Five_

 _Daenerys_

 _The feast went well, Varys was right, it was the perfect way for Jon to consolidate the people's love for him._ The people of Kind's Landing had screamed themselves hoarse at their king's coronation the next day, and lit candles all around the city, displaying their love for their Targaryen king—though some had thron rice from their windows, symbolising snow, which had thoroughly angered Daenerys. I _will have to do one of my own when I return to Mereen._ Slowly, Daenerys had begun to accept that she was extremely unlikely to sit the Iron Throne. Much to her surpise, though, she had found that she harboured no hard feelings towards Jon for taking it from her, only irritation that she had spent so long vying for it, when she could've remained in Pentos, in the house with the red door, and Viserys, before he went hungry for power. _No, if I hadn't come here, then Jon would've never have known of his heritage, and I would've never had my dragons._ Daenerys walked purposefully towards the chambers of Sansa Stark, with her two bloodriders and six Unsullied behind her. _I should've taken to ten,_ that _would scare her._ What Daenerys had really wanted to do, was bring Drogon with her, but the dragon was much to big to be brought inside the throne room with its high ceiling, never mind Sansa's chamber.

"Does Khaleesi wish for blood of her blood to knock?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Daenerys strode inside, finding Lady Margaery braiding Sansa's hair, while the two giggled.

 _Another one I need to speak to,_ Daenerys hadn't liked the way Margaery had been looking at her nephew at the feast, or how long she'd spent dancing with him, either.

"Your Grace," Sansa said hurriedly, jumping to her feet, eyeing the Unsullied soldiers nervously, while Margaery only smiled and performed a small curtsy.

"Mother of Dragons," Margaery said smoothly.

"Lady Sansa, it's nice to see you smiling. And always a pleasure, Margaery."

"Er—thank you—"

"I believe it's _Princess_ Sansa, right?" Margaery interrupted.

At the coronation, much to Dany's displeasure, Jon had also named Sansa and any other of his remaining Stark cousins Prince's and Princess' and Daenerys Queen of Slaver's Bay, to be referred to as either: Your Grace, my Queen, or Mother of Dragons.

 _I will definitely have to get rid of this one._

"Only for those of lower station than her," Daenerys replied silkily.

"Oh, yes, my mistake."

"I hear your father and brother set sail for Highgarden yesterday," Daenerys commented. "Didn't you wish to go home, too?"

"I did, but His Grace asked me to stay longer," Margaery answered sweetly. "To keep Princess Sansa company."

"I'm sure you could've kept Lady Sansa company in Highgarden by bringing her with you. It is not as if either of you have any business in King's Landing any longer."

"I never thought of that," the girl said. "I will ask His Grace next time I see him."

"You need not bother," Daenerys said. "I'll tell him."

"If Jon—His Grace does not want me here, I will be happy to return to Winterfell," Sansa said quickly.

"No, no, the castle is only half built, the King wouldn't want you staying there as yet," _no matter how much I insist._

"Would you care to join us, Queen Daenerys?" Margaery asked. "I'm showing Princess Sansa some of our Southern hairdo's, though I'm sure she'd agree that we'd much prefer for you to teach us how you do yours," Margaery stepped forward, taking a strand of Daenerys' hair in her fingers. "It is always so pretty."

"Maybe another time," Dany moved back. "I'd like to speak with Lady Sansa privately."

"Of course, Queen Daenerys," Margaery curtsied once more before gliding from the room, making sure to hand out a few of her pretty little smiles to the soldiers by the door as she left. Daenerys was happy to see that none of her Unsullied paid any mind to the dimpled smile, nor her bloodriders.

"I apologise for Lady Margaery's behaviour, she forgets herself sometimes, Your Grace," Sansa said, keeping her eyes firmly planted on the ground.

"Lady Margaery will apologise for her own behaviour in time," Daenerys said breezily. "I am here to discuss you."

"Me, Your Grace?" The girl squeaked.

"I am watching you, Sansa, and I do not buy your innocence act, so I'm warning you, Jon may have named you princess but _I_ am Queen, and if you step even toe out of line, Drogon will feast on your pretty little eyes, and burn your pretty little dresses. Am I understood?"

"Y-Yes Your Grace."

"Good. I'll be leaving one of my Unsullied here with you. As protection. You can never be too safe, Sansa."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Good bye, Sansa," Daenerys smiled, and left, ordering Dry Sand to remain with the princess.

 _First, play with the dragons, then find the Tyrell girl and warn her away from my nephew._

 _III_

 _Margaery_

 _That was so stupid of me,_ Margaery berated herself as she walked through the gardens. _If only grandmother was here, she could tell me how to behave with this Dragon Queen._ Margaery didn't know why she'd tried to snub the Daenerys, it was in her nature—and her training—to be polite and courteous to those of higher status than her. Especially when she was currently person non grata— _I will have to change that while I'm here, visit a few of those orphans, maybe ask Jon if he could come too, we could have so much fun. We could even bring Ghost, the kids love his direwolf._ Despite what many around court thought, Margaery was not out to charm and seduce the new King. Not only was the notion stupid, as Margaery knew the King's council would never approve of the match, but Margaery had already promised herself that from now on, she was done charming those she didn't truly love. _I deserve to marry for love, and I can as well, grandmother can use my brothers to make political matches, I am going to marry for myself, whether it is a king or a pauper. Plus, Jon is only a friend, we both know that no marriage could ever occur between the two of us._

 _III_

 _Jon_

Almost a month had passed since Jon's coronation, and the new King was pleased for many reasons. _My kingsguard has arrived, Rickon, Shaggywolf and the woman he was travelling with are only days away, Winterfell is only weeks from being fully built, and Mace Tyrell has gifted me with eighty of his ships, which means Daenerys can finally set sail for Dragonstone._ Jon suspected Lord Tyrell had only given away so many of his ships so easily because he thought Jon was courting Margaery. Jon did like Margaery, more than he liked any other girl he'd met—excusing Daenerys and Arya of course—and found her company, when she wasn't hiding under that charming facade of hers, enchanting and fun. But he'd already been warned by his entire small council, even Littlefinger before the man had set sail for the Vale, that the notion was silly. Daenerys had encouraged Jon to marry someone Dornish, and Tyrion and Varys had both agreed with this. And although Jon knew this, it didn't stop him from seeking out Margaery's company at least twice a week, or promising that he'd go with her to Highgarden when she left, and return with her father for the man to assume his position as Master of Ships. _She is so interesting, much more so than those silly girls that had been sent from Casterly Rock the other week._ Why their fathers thought he would ever marry anyone even distantly related to a Lannister, Jon had no idea.

"Daenerys," Jon said upon sight of his aunt, and her bloodriders. "I hear you and Princess Sansa spent the afternoon together last month."

"Is that so?" She asked.

Jon had considerably widened his spy network, and found it exciting that he now knew the going on's of nearly everyone in the castle. Although, it took far too long for word to reach him than he would've liked.

"Yes. And that you insulted the Princess and her friend, Lady Margaery, whose father is the reason you're finally getting the chance to sail to Dragonstone."

"I only threatened the girl," Daenerys said playfully. "I worry about you and wanted to make sure she was no threat to your safety, once I leave."

"Right," he rolled his eyes. "Well leave her alone from now on."

"I have, haven't I?"

"And Lady Margaery, too."

"Don't worry, threats won't work with her, she knows her father is too important for us to have as an ally. No, I'll be that one's friend."

 _She probably sees right through you, dear aunt._ "Good. Where are you off to?"

"An orphanage with your sweet Lady Margaery."

"Oh?"

"She frequents them often, so I go to make sure she's saying what I want her to say."

 _Oh yes, that's how she won King's Landing before, befriending the orphans. Dany need not worry, I normally go with her, or after her, with food and presents and stories of the North and the Wall._

"Your natural suspicion seems to have increased these past months," Jon laughed.

"You'll thank me for it later," she smiled. "Oh, and I have received word from Ser Jorah, he found Ser Barristan."

"Yes?"

"They spent the first days arguing, I threatened to dismiss both of them, and now it seems they've found Arya."

Jon calmed himself, _do not get too excited, it could be any girl._ "Where?"

"With the Faceless Men. It seems she wants to become one."

" _What_?"

"From what Barristan says, she wishes to stay with them, but Jorah claims that they'll have her on a ship within the week."

 _Arya is well, Arya is safe . . . Sansa, Rickon and Arya . . . Arya is safe and coming back to me._

"They say that after mentioning you missed her was what made her begin to change her mind. I am glad this one seems to care for you as you do her."

"Oh, Dany, thank you," Jon drew her into a tight hug, which startled the woman.

"Jon," she said. "I would do anything for you. What are aunties for?"

Jon laughed. "And I, you."

"I was also speaking with Varys earlier," Daenerys said as they neared the courtyard where Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal were kept. "He tells me that you rejected several girls sent here last week and continue to visit Lady Margaery's chambers each night."

Jon stiffened; he knew rumours were now rife what with more and more people arriving at court now that the kingsroad was safe, and he knew that should be enough to stop him from continuing to visit Margaery's room, or gallivanting around Flea Bottom with her each week with Ghost. _I haven't even let Sansa play with him yet._ But he couldn't, Margaery was Jon's friend, and he hadn't had many of those since he left the Wall, except Tyrion; and he wasn't prepared to lose any. _Anyways, she keeps Sansa happy, the two spend nearly every day in one another's company._

"You make it sound much less innocent than it was."

"So you _have_ been frequenting her chambers."

"Only so I can escort her to wherever we've decided to go."

"You know you can't marry her."

"And why is that?" Jon asked, curious for her reaction.

At first, Daenerys didn't answer, but merely played with her dragons, her face lighting up in a way Jon had come to treasure. "Because she's a harlot," she eventually quipped.

"She's a maid, daughter of the Lord of Highgarden—"

"And the widow of both those Lannister bastards."

"Can you blame her," Jon said. "Who wouldn't want their children to be kings."

"So you want to marry a girl known for her scheming ways?"

"She doesn't scheme when she's with me."

"Of course, Jon," Daenerys said patronisingly. "I don't like or trust her, but if you truly want this girl, then I suppose I couldn't stop you."

 _Wait . . . Did Daenerys just give me her blessing for the match?_

"Are you—"

"Yes, you may marry her. I don't think I'd like _any_ wife you take if I'm being honest, and though she's certainly no maid and a sly bi—"

"Dany."

"Fine. Though she's sly and sneaky, if you treat her well, I suspect her girlish impulses will overtake her and she'll soon fall in love with you as you have her. However, if she has your children, she may kill you and rule as Regent."

"She's not Cersei," Jon sighed. "And you already know that if I should die before my children come of age, you will be named Lord Protector of the Realm until they do."

"Well," she said. "Tyrion will still be around once I'm gone, I don't think he'd let her kill you."

"No, I don't think so either."

"You shouldn't take this as a go-ahead to marry and impregnate her, Jon. We still have to go to Dorne, and you may find that you like some of the girls there."

"Dorne?"

"Yes. Before I go to Dragonstone, we're going to sail to Dorne where you'll meet Prince Doran and offer him the position as Master of Coin."

"Oh. I fear that trip will have to be postponed."

"Don't tell me you're off to Highgarden," Daenerys teased.

"Well . . . "

"Jon," said Daenerys scoldingly. "What has she done to you?"

"Nothing," he protested. "I promised her I would a few weeks ago, and she must have told her grandmother and now I can't refuse."

"Of course," Daenerys sighed. "The King of the Seven Kingdoms is afraid of a frail old woman."

 _Hardly a frail old woman,_ Jon thought as he watched Daenerys coo at Viserion, who replied with jubilant bursts of flames. The Queen of Thornes and one of her other granddaughters had arrived at King's Landing a week or so before. She'd immediately introduced herself to Jon and demanded to know when he would be visiting Highgarden, along with how he'd convinced Margaery to remain in the Red Keep for so long, with only Sansa Stark for company. At first, Jon had found the woman tiring, but he'd soon grown fond of her, and found her just as fun and entertaining as Margaery., though slightly more intimidating. _She's definitely the one I'd have to seek if I wanted to ask for Margaery's hand . . ._ His thoughts began to stray a week or so earlier, when he, Margaery and Ghost had all ventured to Flea Bottom, bringing wine and bread for some of its inhabitants.

 _"I still can't believe you're doing this, Your Grace," Margaery laughed, feeding Ghost a few bites of bread._

 _"It's all going to waste in the castle, since I don't drink," Jon replied. "And I've already told you to call me Jon."_

 _"Sorry, Jon," she said. "But even so, Lord Tyrion will be very upset to see all the wine gone."_

 _Jon had chuckled. "Trust me, we're doing him a favour. Myrcella and Tommen will need him sober."_

 _"Myrcella. . . " Margaery said wistfully. "What I wouldn't give to be that young again."_

 _"You and me both," Jon said, remembering how much easier life had been when he was eleven, had all his family, and didn't quite understand what bastard meant._

 _"I can't imagine you wanting to be that young again," Margaery frowned. "Don't you like being king much better?"_

 _"Sometimes," Jon admitted. "When I'm doing things like this," he gestured to the bread he was currently handing to passing strangers who all thanked him and 'his lady' fervently, along with stroking Ghost as they passed him._

 _"But not all the time?" She inquired._

 _"No," he shook his head. "Not all the time."_

"Jon?" Daenerys' sharp voice snapped him back into reality. "Are you coming or not?"

"Where?"

" _The orphanage._ "

"No," he said. "I think I'll bring Ghost to see Sansa."

Daenerys pursed her lips. "If you're sure."

"We can go flying once you're back. Rhaegal hasn't been out in weeks."

"Well, that's because his flyer has been too busy parading around with Highgarden's whore."

"Dany," Jon said warningly.

"Whatever," she said. "But once I'm back I'll send Missandei for you, and we can go. Give us time to discuss when you actually plan on visiting Dorne."

"Alright, dear aunt."

Daenerys stuck her tongue out jokingly in response.

 _III_

 _The Northern Handmaid_

Zora—a distant cousin of Lord Edmure of House Tully—quite enjoyed her post at the castle. She was always a hardworking girl, who knew she would never get to marry a fancy lord and spend her married life sitting around having others do her work for her; so she didn't mind being a handmaiden herself, especially since Myrcella was such an easy girl to serve. _His Grace was merciful to have spared her, if it had been me or my father, we might've killed her along with her scheming bitch of a mother._ All Zora had to do was draw a bath each day, and fetch the girl her dinner. Most of the time Zora spent exploring the grounds and gardens, or taking sneak peeks at the king's infamous dragons. _I still think Ghost is much more interesting._ House Tully had always been allies of House Stark and the North, which is why Zora preferred referring to Jon as a Stark, or the Northern King as some in the castle and the city did. Most, however, were more enchanted by his Targaryen descent and Rhaegal than the direwolf, although many did comment on the formidableness of the animal. _I still cannot believe His Grace remembered my name and let me pet Ghost. I've always wanted to see a direwolf ever since Lady Catelyn's children found theirs._ Despite Zora never having met Lady Catelyn, she'd heard tales of the woman's beauty and dedication to her family ever since she was little, and had always been instructed to be like her, in order to bring honour to House Tully. Zora, amongst many, had also felt the immense shame upon finding out how horribly Lady Catelyn had treated the new king in his youth for being born a bastard—something he could not help. _It's understandable for her not to have loved the boy, true, but purposely setting out to separate him from his family and siblings. . ._ Zora could not help but notice that the treatment of baseborn's was much friendlier since the crowning of Jon. _It must be because they now see that bastards aren't always evil, sly creatures, as His Grace is the complete opposite. Then again, he is not technically a bastard._

Due to Zora's small physique and average looks, many did not notice her as she scuttled around the castle. Meaning that she often heard what she maybe should not have, such as Myrcella and her brother discussing who was going to be their mother now that King Jon had killed theirs. Enraged, Zora had quickly told them that their mother had been an evil creature who would've probably ruined their lives. Tommen was quick to agree, but Myrcella had stayed silent, probably trying to remember what her mother had been like before she was shipped of to Dorne. Still, that had not been enough to satisfy Zora, so she had quickly reported back to Jon what she'd heard. _If they begin to get ideas and let them fester, we'll have another Lannister War on our hands, and His Grace might be slaughtered like King Robert was._ Zora certainly couldn't have that; _His Grace is the best king we've seen in decades,_ and she was not the only one to think that. Each night, nearly every house in king's landing, and even those not in the city, lit candles to show loyalty and love for their new king, and always waited eagerly for his visits to the common people each week, more often than not with 'his lady'. _I'll get rid of those Lannister's myself, before I let them kill His Grace, even if they are pretty and sweet._ When she'd relayed the news to Jon, he'd regarded her thoughtfully, before thanking her for letting him know. He'd then promised her a good life and husband if she wanted one once she came of age if Zora continued to bring him news of this nature or anything else she might deem important. For some reason, Zora had brightened at the order, and spent weeks scouring the castle for anything even slightly treacherous, and had even managed to recruit some other young maids for her search. _We all love His Grace, we won't have him murdered in his own castle, not another one._ It was why Zora hid in the shadows, listening to Lady Margaery and her grandmother converse, when she'd heard the young maid should be out visiting orphanages with Queen Daenerys.

"Grandmother, I've already told you," Zora heard the woman say irritably.

"And I've _heard_ you, Marg, but I still think you have a chance with this King Jon," another voice answered.

 _Long may he reign, and long will he reign._

"I am His Grace's friend, nothing more."

"But you could be—"

" _No_ , grandmother."

"Don't tell me the episode with Cersei scarred you this much? Do you not want to the Queen any longer?"

Zora sucked in a sharp breath.

"Cersei is not the problem, here, she's long gone—" _thank the gods._ "I am done marrying for power, grandmother, I've done it three times already and each time I lost a part of myself. I deserve love, grandmother, and that's the only thing I'll be marrying for, from now on."

The old woman sighed. "I think this is folly."

"Then let it be," Margaery replied. "Let me marry a pauper and suffer the consequences. At least it will be my mistake, and not yours."

"I have already apologised for the Joffrey incident," the older woman snipped. "And don't you forget that I dealt with it as soon as possible."

"How could I forget," Margaery muttered.

"I still think this is utter nonsense, and I do hope you don't marry some pauper who'll most likely only be using you for your title," the woman sniffed. "But if you insist that you're done marrying kings, I won't force you."

"Thank you, grandmother."

"Though your parents may be another story."

"I'll deal with father easily enough."

"I'm sure you will."

"Grandmother?" Margaery asked shyly after a while. "Do you really think His Grace likes me?"

The woman laughed fondly. "Oh Marg, what has he done to you?"

"Oh, stop it."

"Come girl, I'll explain elsewhere, the walls have ears in these places."

 _Oh yes, they certainly do._


	6. Chapter 6

**Arya's not blind, nor has she ever been btw, I changed it. Also, I will update this story weekly, on a Thursday or Friday. If I happen to have enough chapter pre-written I may update twice a week. Don't hold your breath though, I'm still writing chapter eight :3 Additionally, thanks for follows/faves/reviews.**

* * *

 _Chapter Six_

 _Sansa_

Nervous and still shaken from her confrontation with Daenerys, it was with extreme trepidation that Sansa waited for Jon to arrive at her chambers. She had heard that he'd scolded his aunt for frightening her, and Sansa had then hoped he'd have Dry Sand removed from her service too, but alas, the soldier still remained the only member of her personal guard. _Maybe Her Grace truly was trying to protect me,_ Sansa thought hopefully. _It is not as if he has mistreated me in any way, he does not even speak unless giving me messages from the king._ Despite the fear he inspired in her, Sansa did rather like having Dry Sand around. She felt much safer walking around the grounds with him by her side, and less scared whenever she heard the dragons, as she knew they favoured the Queen's Unsullied guard much more so than the pale-skinned citizens of King's Landing. _Still, I'd feel much safer with Lady by my side._

A knock at Sansa's door indicated that Jon had arrived. "Come in," she called shakily.

Jon entered with two of his kingsguard, and Ghost; Sansa ached to reach for the direwolf's rich, white fur. _Stop, he is not Lady, he is not mine._ "Sansa," Jon greeted her with a warm, if a tad tight, smile. "I have good news."

"Really, Your Grace?" She was happy to see that Jon had chosen Northernmen as part of his kingsuard. _They will keep him safe._

"Aye, but first, let us walk?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

"I've already told you it's Jon when we're alone."

"Sorry, Jon," she smiled impishly. _Why is he so kind to me?_

"You've not met Ghost yet, have you?" He asked as they walked.

"I have heard of him."

"Well, here he is," he ruffled his fur. "In all his glory. Here Ghost, this is Princess Sansa, my cousin."

The wolf sniffed at Sansa's outstretched hand suspiciously. "Go on," Jon urged. "She won't bite." Albeit reluctantly, the wolf allowed Sansa to touch him. His bright fur made her uneasy at first, so unlike Lady's, but she soon overcame it and began stroking him.

"He's like that with everyone," Jon assured her.

"So was Lady," Sansa said.

"I was so sorry to hear what Joffrey did," Jon said. "To think, they were all brothers and sisters."

"Yes," _scattered and dead, like us Starks._

"So, how are you, Sansa?"

"I am fine, Your— _Jon_."

"Honestly?"

"Yes," she bit her lip. _If only he was Robb, I might tell him how scared I am that one day I'll wake up and realise this was all a dream, and find Cersei and Joffrey waiting for me. But he is only Jon, my cousin who doesn't really care for me._

"You know you could tell me if you weren't," he said softly. "We aren't close, but I look after my family."

"I—" she clutched Ghost's fur a little tighter. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what older brother's are for."

"But we're cousins, Jon."

"Maybe in name, but in my head, you'll always be my snobby sister."

She froze until he stated that he was joking. "Oh," she smiled. "Thank you."

"Only don't tell Dany, she'll go mad," he winked.

She wanted to wink back, but all Sansa could think was that he called the scary dragon queen Dany, that he'd once called Arya 'little sister', and even Rickon had earned a nickname whereas she would always be 'my snobby sister'. _Half sister,_ she corrected bitterly in her head.

"She doesn't like me," Sansa blurted.

Jon only laughed. "She doesn't like anyone, really."

"Oh," _I think this is the first Jon's laughed with me since I got here._

"Don't let her scare you too much."

"She is quite scary, though."

"Well, yes, she is. But she loves me, so if I tell her not to, she won't hurt you."

Sansa could think of no reply, so she continued to stroke an unwilling Ghost's fur, and watched Jon exchange jokes with his lord commander of the kingsguard. _Smalljon, I think he's called. I wish I had a friend whom I could jest with._ She had Margaery, of course, but the girl was much older than her, in experience if not years, and though they'd become close companions, Sansa couldn't help but feel unwanted and stupid when she heard how Margaery often dined with the king, or went on walks with the Dragon Queen. the news had Sansa began longing for her sister. _Even if Arya were here, she'd probably prefer Queen Daenerys to me . . ._

"I miss my mother," Sansa said without realising, her hands instantly flying to cover her mouth.

Smalljon turned to the girl, as if he'd only just realised she was there, and Jon gave her a look filled with pity. _That was stupid to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Smalljon, Rice and Dry Sand," the king said, not looking away from Sansa. "Find Lady Margaery and escort her here."

"Your Grace," they all said.

"There's no rush," Jon added.

"I'm sorry for saying that," she apologised quickly once they left. "My mother was a traitor and—"

"Sansa," he said softly. "She wasn't a traitor."

"But she treated you _horribly_ , and so did I and—" tears filled her eyes, she wiped at them angrily. _Why am I crying? I'm a weak little girl again, just like I was all those moons ago._ Suddenly, she felt herself being encircled in a pair of warm arms, with Ghost nuzzling them jealously.

"Your mother wasn't a traitor for disliking her husband's bastard," he said. "Sure, I would've liked if she hadn't hated me. And I obviously don't miss or love her, but she was your mother."

"But—"

"She only ever gave me hard stares and the cold shoulder. It could've been worse; I could've had Cersei."

Sansa and Jon both shuddered at the thought. _He is not wrong, Cersei would've had him strangled in his sleep._

"You know, the good news I was speaking of earlier was that Dany has found Arya and Rickon is only days away from King's Landing."

For a few moments, Sansa stayed still. She'd heard rumours of Rickon arriving a while ago, but hadn't thought they could be true, else Jon would've told her. _I guess he must've forgotten. I suppose it'll take a while for him to truly like me or want to seek out my company, as he does Queen Daenerys or Arya. I will have to get used to it._ Though Sansa was excited that she could now confirm her brother's arrival, the last she'd seen Rickon he'd been a boy of five or six, and she'd barely ever spent any time with him. _He won't even remember me._ But Arya, she'd known Arya, argued and been ashamed of her, but known and loved her nonetheless. _I will have a friend again, surely she won't still be a reckless child. I still cannot believe she isn't dead, Cersei had Varys looking for her._ Sansa mused over this before quickly coming to the conclusion that Daenerys was a much better Queen than Cersei, _and much scarier._

"Is Arya not coming?"

"You know what she's like," Jon said, simultaneously releasing her. "Apparently she's still resisting, but if she doesn't agree to come back with Dany's knights, I'll go to Braavos myself for her."

 _Braavos? Arya's in Braavos? My, how things have changed._

"You could come too."

"If you want me to."

"No, if _you_ want to. Sansa, you're not a prisoner anymore. I won't have my guards beat you. You can speak freely."

"I er . . . I would like to travel."

"Then you will," Jon said. "I plan to sail with Lady Margaery and her grandmother to Highgarden in a fortnight, and then to Dorne. Do you wish to come?"

 _Dorne! Oh how I would love to see Dorne! They say the food is simply to die for . . . And Highgarden, too! I might see Ser Loras._ She shook her head. _Loras is a queer, I am not his type. I must stop this fantasising._ Sansa had grown considerably, but deep down, she was still a girl whose dream was to marry a kind knight and raise his children. Only now, she did not care whether he was handsome and fair for she knew that looks could be terribly deceiving.

"Would—Would _Her_ Grace be coming too?"

"Who? Dany?"

Sansa nodded.

"Yes, I believe so. At least to Dorne she will be, I'm not sure about Highgarden."

"Oh."

"Don't let her stop you from coming. The Queen will be too busy to scare you, Sansa. Even if she does, you have Dry Sand to protect you."

"He is loyal to Her Grace, though."

"He is loyal to you now, she gave him orders to protect you."

"But she hates me."

"Maybe, but you're my family and I want you safe, therefore she'll keep you safe until you do something unforgivable to her. Which I don't think you will."

"No, Your Grace."

"Jon."

"Sorry, again."

"It's fine. Look, there's Margaery. Would you like to come walking with us?"

"In Flea Bottom?" Sansa wrinkled her nose, thinking of how those people had flung dung and shit and piss at her last time she'd been there.

"Maybe not today. We'll probably go to the Blackwater and speak with a few of the sailors."

"Oh," Sansa said in relief. "Then of course. If you'll have me."

"Come on, then. Margaery hates waiting," he walked towards the maid briskly, leaving Sansa with Ghost watching the couple, bemused.

 _I wonder if he loves her. It would be cute if he did, but I don't know if she truly loves him. She pretended to love Joffrey. And Tommen, and look how those marriages turned out. Maybe I should warn Jon somehow, to be wary. Or I could tell Margaery—no, I couldn't tell her anything._ Then a thought occurred to Sansa. _But I am a Princess now, and she's just a slightly disgraced lady, I could tell her to stay away from Jon and she'd have to listen. Right?_

 _III_

 _Margaery_

She heard the rumours, saw the pointed looks, and knew exactly what they were all thinking. Even Sansa thinks it true, Margaery watched the young Stark girl stood uncomfortably by her new personal guard, _Dry Something I think it was. She's been silent the entire trip,_ at first Margaery had thought it was due to fear of her newly royalcousin, but had soon realised it was not so when Jon excused himself to speak with a few sailors and Sansa still remained stiff and distant. _Only a week ago we were braiding one another's hair. What will I have to do to convince them I have no intentions of marrying the king?_ Her mood only soured when she realised the best way of stopping the rumours would be to stop fuelling them and return back to Highgarden. Without Jon. The thought saddened Margaery greatly, as over the past weeks, she had come to like Jon, love him even. _Not in that way,_ she told herself, _like I love Loras, but a little less . . . brotherly._ She knew that Jon liked her, in what way she wasn't sure, but she was almost certain that he liked her very much. _He knows the real me, no false charm, or plastic smiles, just me. Margaery._

"Lady Margaery," the girl looked up to see Sansa stood before her, head held unnaturally high.

 _She tries too hard, and wears her feelings far too obviously. If only she would bring down her walls, I could help her._

"Princess Sansa," Margaery said brightly. "I see you've gotten used to having your own guard."

"Yes, I am quite glad the Queen gave him to me," Sansa said haughtily.

 _So she is trying to intimidate me by insinuating she is on friendly terms with the Dragon Queen,_ Margaery almost laughed at the poor girls transparency, _Daenerys hates her, or at the very least, likes me much better._ Of course, Margaery wasn't fooled by Daenerys' friendship act, an obvious attempt to keep an eye on her, but she had found that the Queen had a rather wicked sense of humour, and unlike Cersei, used her femininity and beauty to her advantage rather than trying to scare everyone into doing her will. _Yes, she is infinitely better than Cersei was, and kinder too. Though she's wasting her time watching me; for once I am up to nothing._ Yet despite the Queen's blatant distrust of her, Margaery couldn't help but admire and like her. _She is fearless, and she loves deeply. Especially Jon._

"As am I."

"Lady Margaery—" she hesitated. "I think you should go back to Highgarden."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Princess—"

"I think you do, Lady Margaery. I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing with Jon."

"You do? Enlighten me, His Grace is only a good friend ."

"I like you, Margaery, I really do but I can't let you do to Jon what you did to Joffrey."

"I see," _so the Starks do really look out for one another. . . at least he is finally one of them, what he always wanted._

"I think you should go back to Highgarden, and marry someone there."

"I think I'll wait a few years till I re-marry."

"Jon has annulled all your previous marriages, so technically, you're no longer a widow or a divorcée."

"I remember," Margaery said fondly. _How can I leave him? He has become my best friend._

"So you'll have no trouble finding other suitors."

"I guess I should tell him that I'm leaving, then."

"I think it would be best. You can always send ravens."

 _But never visit . . . And I so wanted to meet Rickon and Arya._ Tears welled in her eyes before she remembered that she couldn't cry for a man that wasn't hers. _Sansa will probably think they are fake, anyhow._

"Very well, Princess."

Sansa smiled a very small and tight smile that Margaery was on the verge of returning when Jon returned to them, a bag of what smelled like fresh fish in his hands. He threw one to Ghost, who devoured it hungrily.

"I think we're going to have to go home, ladies," Jon said regretfully. "I need to take Ghost hunting."

"That's fine, Your Grace," Sansa said. "It was nice to see the outside."

" _Jon_ , Sansa," her cousin said. "And it was a pleasure to take you," he glanced at Margaery. "You don't mind if I send you home with Dry Sand and Rice, do you?"

Sansa sent a hard look towards Margaery before answering, "Of course not."

"Good," Jon smiled, offering his arm to Margaery who took it reluctantly. "Come Lady Margaery, I still have something to show you."

The two walked for roughly half an hour, all the while Margaery allowing Jon to talk and only giving slight nods of her head as her participation of the conversation. Idly, she wondered why Jon liked her, exactly. She was nothing like the girls in the North, her personality—in her opinion and compared to the other more interesting girls Jon had known—was mostly generic and exceedingly hard to swallow sometimes, and what beauty she had now would soon fade with the years. _I would hate it if he only liked me for my appearance. Plus, nearly everyone at the Red Keep had warned him to stay well away from her._

"Margaery?"

"Yes?"

"You're not saying anything."

"Sorry, Yo—"

"Stop that," he said. "Stop the simpering and the Your Grace, and the incessant apologies and tell me why you're so quiet all of a sudden."

 _Because I have to leave you, that's why._ "I just—seeing you with Princess Sansa just made me long for Loras, is all."

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing to indicate that he didn't believe her. "I told you he's always welcome."

"I don't think my father wants him too far from home, anymore."

"Well, you're going home soon, no?"

"Yes. Within the week."

"The week?" Jon repeated.

"Yes. Grandmother, she is feeling unwell and wishes to return and I promised I'd go with her."

"I see," he said. "And Taena?"

"She'll come home with us too," _oh Taena must hate me, I've barely spent a day with her since she came._

"That's a bit sooner than I'd have liked," Jon admitted. "I suppose Tyrion can manage for a few weeks, though."

"Pardon?" Margaery choked. _He can't still mean to come with me, surely. . ._

"Have I misspoke?"

"No, I just—" _why do I always falter around him? I'm no stranger to kings._ "Didn't know you still meant to come with us."

"I promised, didn't I? And I'm not sure your grandmother will let me refuse," he chuckled.

"I know, but I think I've forgotten that you have a kingdom to rule, and Her Grace has told me you were supposed to go to Dorne with her."

"We plan to go to Dorne afterwards."

"I don't want to inconvenience you, Jon."

"You're not. What's the matter, Margaery?"

A large part of Margaery desperately wanted to crumble, and bawl, and tell Jon everything, how even walking through the grounds with her grandmother was a trial because everyone either hated her, wanted her gone, or distrusted her intentions; that nobody, not even her own family, believed she could ever just care for someone anymore, especially a king, because of her past actions. _Gods, I've truly ruined my life . . ._ But instead, Margaery banished away any tears, painted a smile on her face and told the king a lie.

"I miss home," _just another one, make it believable Margaery,_ "There are so many bad memories here, and it's hard walking past Tommen each day and not remembering everything."

"I can have Tyrion send Tommen away, if that would make you feel better," Jon offered.

"No, I couldn't do that. Lord Tyrion is the only Lannister you should trust those children with."

"I wouldn't send them back to Casterly Rock."

"No, I know it wouldn't sit well with you to separate them from their uncle just to please me."

"Then what would you have me do? I don't like having you upset."

"It will pass once I go home," _lies, lies, lies._

"I apologise for keeping you here so long, then," his eyes filled with guilt, and Margaery felt something in her chest clench.

"It, it—" she paused. "It is an honour to fulfil the wishes of my king."

 _III_

 _Jon_

The king's good mood was slowly beginning to fade. A few days had passed in what seemed like a blur, and now he was only a few hours away from losing Margaery, forever. _I was a fool to think she loved me._ Jon had received ravens from one of his little birds, all of them revolving around Margaery and her conversations. He'd assumed they'd be filled with words trying to warn him away from the girl, painting her as a scheming witch. Shock couldn't even begin to explain how he'd felt after reading that Lady Margaery insisted that she had no eyes or plans to charm the king, that she wished to marry for love and not political standing, that she spent her days laughing with his cousin, or being supervised by his aunt. It should've come as good news, Jon knew, but that fact didn't stop him from being slightly disappointed that the girl wasn't even slightly interested in him. _Maybe all those simpers were just disguising her disinterest in me, not some tactic to bewitch me._ _I know I couldn't really have wed her but . . . but I really wanted to._

"Your Grace," said The Spider as he appeared from some shadow.

"Lord Varys," Jon returned wearily. "How might I help you?"

"I hear Lady Margaery and her entourage return back to Highgarden on the morrow."

"Your little birds tell you that?"

"No, I spoke with Lady Olenna yesterday," the eunuch replied cheerily.

"Mm, very nice."

"The news doesn't seem to please you. I thought you were set to sail with them?"

"No, Lady Margaery decided to leave earlier than I could manage."

"You don't think Tyrion could manage without you?"

"Yes but I planned to fix the problems with the Freys and at Riverrun before leaving."

"Your Grace is a very cautious man."

"Was there anything else, Lord Varys?"

"I only wished to tell Your Grace that the Tyrell's are having a small dinner party later tonight to say goodbye."

Thoroughly tired with the word games Varys enjoyed playing, Jon sighed, "Yes?"

"That your presence would make a certain maid very happy."

"What are you insinuating, my lord?"

"Having little birds is good and well, Your Grace, but you cannot trust every thing they say word for word."

"Lord Varys?"

"Birds sing, but it is up to the listener to interpret exactly what the song means."

Jon couldn't help but laugh. "It is times like this when I miss the simplicity of the Wall."

Varys tittered along. "I am no fan of Lady Margaery, but she has no cruelty or ill will in her heart. She is only smarter than the usual hoard of ladies we get at court."

"Trust me, I know."

"Yet you mope and ignore her."

"She is not meant for me, Lord Varys. I know who I'm expected to marry."

"And who is that?"

"I—"

 _Who is it?_

 _III_

 _Arya_

Arya had just managed to escape the watchful eye of Ser Barristan. _He's_ _much_ _easier_ _to_ _confuse_ , _he_ _never_ _suspects_ _much_ _of_ _me._ Her time in Braavos had taught Arya many things, one of them being that rather than forcing people to acknowledge her as a worthy fighter and opponent, use her very deceiving looks to fool her enemies. _Ser_ _Jorah_ _is_ _harder_ _though_ , _he_ _sees_ _right_ _through_ _me_.

Quickly and silently, Arya sped through the streets. It had been two weeks since the two knights had found her, bearing news that she was now a royal; a princess; which had sickened her at first. _I_ _never_ _even_ _wanted_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _Lady_ _never_ _mind_ _some_ _prissy_ _Princess._ But slowly, after retrieving Needle from her hiding place and forcing Ser Barristan to train with her, Arya had begun to accept her new title. _At_ _least_ _this_ _time_ _around_ , _I_ _won't_ _be_ _some_ _weak_ _child_ _with_ _a_ _big_ _mouth_ _and_ _ugly_ _face_ , _I'll_ _be_ _smarter_ , _better_ _than_ _last_ _time._ She hadn't yet agreed to sail back to King's Landing with them, but she was nearly there. The thought of seeing Jon once more was the only thing strong enough to make her want to leave the comfortable-ish life she'd found with the Faceless Men. _I'll have to give up my training. Though the old man insists that I can apply what I've learnt anywhere. Plus I'll have my family back._ _They say Sansa is with Jon, too_. And the allure of the Dragon Queen that Ser Jorah almost worshipped was quite a big push for Arya to return to King's Landing.

 _I wonder if she would let me ride them, the way Jon did._


	7. Chapter 7

**Things got a bit confusing for me here, I didn't know whether to have Edmure dead like he is in the tv series, or have him alive. In the end I chose to have him dead. Sorry if he's a particular favourite. Rickon's eight. Bran's twelve. Arya's thirteen. Sansa's fifteen(I'm having her name day soon, so she'll be sixteen). Right. I used the the tv series ages, so that makes Jon about nineteen, in this fic at least. I just had to list that out for myself, sorry. And if they're not accurate I apologise, but as I've stated this fic was purely just something fun for me to write, not serious. I am so glad people seem to be enjoying it though. Also, I do have some character development in store for Arya in particular, and Margaery too. There'll probably be others too, but those two are the only ones I've actually thought out.**

* * *

 _Chapter Seven_

 _Arya_

One thing Arya had learnt about herself the past few years was that she was a very good sailor. She still wasn't quite big enough to help with the rowing, but she was very capable at carrying out jobs on other places around the ship, which made her feel much more useful than she'd once been. _And to think, I used to be a little mouse, scared and frightened running around Harranhal._ Though she reminded herself that she'd also once been the ghost of the castle. _I wouldn't need Jaquen now, I could do everything myself._ The thought pleased her immensely. Feeling useless or weak had never sat well with the Stark girl, and by training with the Faceless Men, she'd made sure—in her mind at least—that she'd never feel that way again. _I can lie now, lie so well I could fool the kindly man._ Not only that, but Arya had explored her dreams and come to find that entering cats now was as easy as when she dreamed of Nymeria. She ached to reach to King's Landing so she could tell Jon, despite sometimes fearing that their relationship may not be the same as it once was. Sometimes she grew so impatient, she considered telling Ser Jorah or Ser Barristan, but never went through with it. _Secrets are better kept between one person,_ she constantly reminded herself. _Jon doesn't count though, he is my big brother, he'd never use my secrets against me._

"Princess Arya, one of your knights wishes to speak with you," one of the boys addressed her awkwardly, staring fervently at his feet and nowhere else.

Arya inwardly groaned. _I will hit Jon for this princess malarkey._ "Which one? And what of?" She rose from her knees, where she had been scrubbing the deck.

"Ser Jorah and I think word from the king has reached us," he mumbled.

All of the sailors were either from King's Landing or Highgarden, _where most of Jon's ships had come from,_ Arya had learnt,— _I learn so much on such a small ship,_ she mused—and insisted on referring to Jon as 'His Grace' or 'the king', and though she knew this was the standard code of respect, it still irritated her. They could just say 'your brother'. The liberal ways of the Braavosi had certainly rubbed off on her.

She wiped her hands on her trousers. "All right, where is he?"

"Ser Jorah is below, in his chambers."

Excitedly, Arya sped to the knight's room, eager to hear from Jon even if she would rather stay out of the company of such a solemn man. _I don't care if he has helped me with my High Valyrian or secretly taught me Dothraki, he's still a creep and unhealthily obsessed with this dragon woman._

"You summoned me?"

"I cannot summon a princess, princess," replied Ser Jorah.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Well, you wished to speak with me?"

"You may roll your eyes, princess, but a princess is what you are and how you must behave, else people will lose respect for your family and your brother, the king."

 _He sounds like Sansa._ "Alright, whatever, but you try having everyone call you princess over and over again for two weeks straight."

"Would you prefer Arry?"

Arya let out a dry laugh at the knight's jest, thoroughly regretting ever telling him of her adventures after King's Landing. "Arya's fine, ser."

"Well then, Princess Arya, while we were docked at Maidenpool, we met with Lord Tarly, who was actually waiting for us; he passed on news from King's Landing and the rest of Westeros, and a letter for you."

Many different questions flew around Arya's mind, she decided to settle on the least interesting one first. "Who's Lord Tarly to Jon?"

"The father of the king's good friend while he was on the Wall."

 _What's the son of some lord doing on the Wall? I thought it was for bastards, rapers and non-inheriting cousins._

"And he was content with just sitting around waiting for us?"

"It seems that your brother gifted him with the land as a gift."

"A gift for what? The Tarly's didn't fight in the rebellion, did they?"

Another thing Arya loathed was not knowing things. Being nosy and asking questions was good and well, but being unsure and uncertain, that left her feeling young and helpless again. Though she had learnt much in Braavos, news from King's Landing always reached late and when it did, it was hard to hear it as the people of the islands were barely interested in the going on's of distant lords and ladies, and most still believed the Lannister's were in power. The last Arya had heard, before being found _by Daenerys's knights was that Tommen had married some maid who Cersei disliked. I hate that I didn't get to kill her either. Now that I am Arya again, and not faceless, I can get rid of the rest on my list. And nobody could punish me because of Jon._ Grinning to herself, Arya's fingers unconsciously wrapped around Needle's hilt at her waist.

"From my understanding they fought the side of the Lannister's, which is when Lord Tarly sacked Maidenpool."

"If he fought for the Lannister's, why is Jon gifting him?"

"The king is very fond of his son. The lord didn't seem to pleased about it, but mentioned that he liked the new king and considered asking him to free his son from his vows so he might allow the boy to inherit what is his."

 _Probably just to gain more favour with Jon._ "Must've been some son."

The knight chuckled. "Sometimes you have to forget past grievances and move on. House Tarly are sworn to House Tyrell of Highgarden, who at the time was sworn to House Lannister through marriage."

 _More Houses, gods am I expected to remember all of them now that I'm a princess?_

"Is there any other news?"

"Nothing of great importance. Only that the king has named Queen Daenerys his heir till he has children, and given her Dragonstone as the seat of House Targaryen which she will rule."

"Wouldn't that make her a princess?" _Of course, he would only remember anything to do with her. I swear he loves this woman._

"No, the king has also named her a Queen in her own right. Of Slaver's Bay."

"How nice of him," confusion seeped into Arya's voice as she wondered why Jon was being so generous to this woman. _Sure she's his aunt, but he's only just met her, right?_

"The king has proved himself honourable and just. It is no wonder the people love him; they light candles in their windows nearly every night in his honour."

 _Candles? Oh yes, he is a Targaryen now, blood of the dragon, as Jorah always tells me._

"May I see the letters, then?"

"Of course," he handed them over immediatley.

Arya waited until she curled up in some crevice right at the bottom of the ship, where only rats could see or hear her, before reading it. Holding a candle to cast some light, she opened her letter anxiously, only pausing to briefly admire Jon's new royal sigil, which was the familiar direwolf Arya had grown up seeing, however behind it was the three-headed dragon she supposed represented his new heritage; idly she wondered what words he now used.

 _Dear Arya,_

 _I hope this letter reaches you well, you will have to pardon my penmanship, I have only recently began writing so often and find that my scrawl becomes untidier each day rather than the other way round, which is quite peculiar since practice ought to make perfect. But that's beside the point. I impatiently await your return, as does Sansa and Rickon. Yes, Rickon is here and he is surprisingly well. I am not sure what you heard of his and Bran's supposed death, but he tells us that this Osha woman he has been travelling with, who was a scullery maid at Winterfell before it was burnt down, hid him and Bran and helped them escape. There is no word of Bran, but Osha tells me he was with trusted friends, bannermen of House Stark and should turn up eventually. I am restless, still, and may go looking for him myself, if only I had the time. What I wouldn't do for a spare morning. Alas, I have rambled. I miss you dearly, and hope you are not causing Dany's knights too much trouble. If you do, she might not let you see the dragons. I'm japing, of course, she'd never refuse me is I told her to let you see them—don't tell her I said that though—plus, I fear you and her will get along swimmingly. There is no-one who reminds me so much of you, except maybe this Osha woman. I'd love to write a page or two more, but some of the things I wish to tell you should not be put in the hands of random lords, despite my liking for their sons. Until I see you, little sister._

 _Jon_

Feelings coursed through her veins almost too fast for Arya to name them. Excitement, happiness, joy, apprehension, and little spouts of jealousy for 'Dany'. She placated herself by focusing on the fact that Jon misses her, greatly by the sounds of the letter— _I doubt he sent one to Sansa_ —and planned to tell her things in secret that he didn't trust in the hands of his many lords, _and he still calls me little sister._ Arya could almost feel his hands messing up her hair. She banished all feelings of jealousy for Daenerys— _Jorah insists she is great, and I speak High Valyrian just like her, too. Anyways, Jon would never push me aside for some aunty, I have loved him always even when he was a bastard_ — and folded the letter, moving to tuck it into her clothes. She made to get up and leave her little alcove until a small folded piece of parchment fluttering to the ground caught her attention. She opened it up, the first words reading:

 _Princess Arya Stark, the only sister who accepted her baseborn sibling,_

 _III_

 _Rickon_

 _Everything is so bright. So bright._

"What's caught your attention, boy?"

"Why is it so light here, Osha?"

The wildling laughed. "It's the south, little prince."

"I don't like it," the boy pouted, reaching over for his direwolf, who growled protectively.

"He's twice as big as you, nowadays," Osha commented, fondly growling back at the wolf.

"He's not bigger than Ghost, though," Rickon said, gesturing to the snow white beast snoring by Osha's side. "Ghost's massive."

"Aye," Osha murmured, she too had been slightly aghast at the size of the king's wolf, which towered past her own waist, whereas Shaggydog stood comfortably at her hips. "It is nice that they can play with one another, now."

"Yes. Robb's and Sansa's are dead now, but if Bran and Arya come back it would like their entire family's together again."

"Bran _will_ be back," Osha said firmly.

"Yes, Jon promised," the boy said it with a strong sense of certainty; many years he'd spent without any proper family, and so he had latched onto Jon fiercely, which had at first brought out feelings of protectiveness in Osha, but eventually the woman came to understand that Jon was a good man, a northern man, who had fought on the Wall and loved a wildling woman once. By letting her roam the castle with his own direwolf, he'd successfully earned both her and Rickon's love and trust.

"It's the dragons that are a real sight," she said after a while. "I told you and your brother years ago that that comet meant dragons."

"And you were right," Rickon conceded laughing. "Like always."

"And don't you forget it, little prince," she said jokingly in return.

Rickon loved Osha in a way that words couldn't quite decipher; especially not his own since his lessons had essentially ended a year ago once he went on the run, and the most he could remember were the basic words. He naturally gravitated around the woman, and clung to her when he went to sleep, and cried into her breast when he remembered his old life before his father had died. And apart from very recently, she was the only person he'd ever trusted Shaggydog with. For a very long time, she'd been his home, his family. It was her, not Eddard Stark, who'd taught him how to fight six months ago, and her who'd fashioned him his own wooden spear which he insisted was a sword and given it to him on his eighth nameday. For his first two weeks at the Red Keep, he'd point blank refused to leave his room, and only spoke to Osha. She had been the one to coax him out and introduce him to his brother, who he subsequently latched onto with great vigour. Nowadays, Rickon had very few bad days where he was unruly or cried, and he quite liked playing with his new brother Jon, who he just about remembered from his old castle. _He was a Snow, though, mother always said it. So did Sansa._ Rickon decided from very early on that he didn't like Sansa very much. She was too quiet and still for his tastes, and she didn't like it when he tried to spar with her the way he did Osha and Jon. _She's very pretty though and Jon says I have to be nice to her because she is my sister._ Yes, the days weren't that bad for Rickon anymore, but he still didn't like being forced to eat breakfast with his sister. He sincerely hoped that the other one was more fun.

 _III_

 _Jon_

A month since Margaery's departure back to Highgarden and Jon still couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that hung around and inside him every morning and every night. She had sent a raven two weeks ago, but Jon hadn't felt like it was something Margaery would say. Or write, even. _Your Grace is very popular here in Highgarden, celebrations for your reign last all day long. I am glad to have had the chance to meet you in person. Grandmother wishes you well, and father is so very proud for you to have named him Master of Ships and sets sail next month._ The letter left him feeling emptier than he had prior to reading it, though he still scribbled a half-hearted reply, asking her to pass on his goodwill to her brothers and new nephew. He found that it was easy to distract himself in the days: visiting Sansa and trying to draw her out of her shell, playing with Rickon and talking with Osha—which was a lot more enjoyable than he'd thought it would be, she is like Ygritte in some ways—and of course his boring small council meetings. _I have achieved much though, and Tyrion takes most of the load off my shoulders._ The dwarf had managed to restore stability in Riverrun by naming the Blackfish lord of the riverlands, stating that having a warrior as one of his lords would serve Jon well, especially, and had managed to take away a very large proportion of the Frey's wealth for their murder of Jon's brother Stark, which went aginst all laws of hospitality, which had then been used to pay of the last of the crown's debt to the Iron Bank and buy two hundred more ships. Except for Walder Frey being taken as prisoner and sent to Lannisport to live the rest of his days in a cell, no further punishment had been taken out on House Frey. _And last week I finally received word that Dacey Mormont has officially ruling Winterfell in stead of Rickon or Bran, who I plan to send back there once I find a trustworthy Maester and he learns to read._ Jon had received his own Maester, days ago, who turned out to be Tyrell, Gormon, _her_ great uncle, making his longing for the maid all the more stronger. Even Daenerys and Rhaegal couldn't take Jon's mind of her permanently. Lately, though, Daenerys hardly had any time for Jon, as she was extremely busy with preparations for Dragonstone and organising her Unsullied soldiers and any of the people from Slaver's Bay she still travelled with. _I don't want to spoil her mood, she doesn't understand anyhow, she never liked Margaery._ Thinking of Arya, was the only thing that ever dulled his pain. _Just a few more weeks and she'll be with me. I'll nearly have my entire family back._ However, the arrival of Rickon and Osha had managed to brighten his days. He enjoyed the boys recklessness, and the woman's wit. He was upset to find that when he roamed the halls with Osha, people cooed and gossiped happily, yet when he had done it with Margaery, they'd drove her right out of his arms and back to Highgarden

"My lord," a teasing voice called, pulling Jon from his thoughts. "I just happened to find the perfect blacksmith to make the armour you wanted for your siblings."

"My lord," Jon replied. "There are blacksmith's aplenty in this city. Why has it taken you nearly a month?"

"All good things to those who wait," Tyrion said. "Have I taught you nothing?"

 _You taught me most things._ "So tell me how you located this blacksmith then?"

"Well, I had help from a certain spider."

"Of course."

"And it seems that my sweet sister—or her darling son, whichever, managed to forget one of Robert's many bastards, and it seems that boy has found himself in the city, with no money, no food, and no brotherhood to fight for."

As quickly as possible, Jon digested Tyrion's words, starting with mention of the brotherhood which he was sure he and Dany had either gotten rid of or persuaded to fight for House Targaryen, or House Stark, whichever one appropriate.

"So this blacksmith was part of the brotherhood?"

"Yes, but mostly because he was a bastard and had nowhere else to go."

"There was always the Wall."

"Unfortunately, he didn't quite make it. Almost got killed on the way."

"Right. Exciting life this blacksmith leads. Why is he so special?"

"Patience, Jonny," Tyrion said again, causing Jon to chuckle at the nickname. "This blacksmith of mine made a friend on his unsuccessful trip to the Wall. A friend who you love very much."

For a moment, Jon almost expected Tyrion to tell him this bastard had been Margaery's friend, and then felt surges of jealousy as he considered the fact that the two may have been lovers. _Easy there, Jon, why would Margaery every befriend a bastard boy on his way to the Wall?_

"And who was this friend?"

"Guess. Here, I'll give you a hint: she's a princess."

"You can't possibly mean. . . He knew _Arya_?" Jon choked.

"Varys has done what he is famous for and pretty much found out everything that happened between the two on their travels. It did take a while though, to locate the boy, lure him to the capital and then get him to spill his guts to the spies we placed around him."

"Nice," Jon said dryly.

"Judge not, Jon Snow," Tyrion waggled a finger. "We've found that he and Princess Arya were very close, that they and some Pie fellow spent a significant amount of time together. Apparently the little princess was very distraught when Gendry decided to stay with the brotherhood rather than follow her, but almost drove himself to the point of madness searching for her when he learned that she'd been taken by The Hound."

Jon ground his teeth at the reminder of his sister's captor, glad that nothing _too_ bad had gone down while he'd held her captive. "So Arya had a little crush did she?"

"Apparently. Although Gendry was a bit older than her, and blanched at her status, so much higher than his, so obviously nothing blossomed between the two."

"Varys will never cease to surprise me," Jon said wistfully.

" _Varys_?" Tyrion exclaimed. "Where's the gratitude for your ever faithful Hand?"

"You know my entire reign would've been doomed from the start without you."

"Flattery gets you everywhere," Tyrion winked.

"So find this Gendry, bring him to court, and I'll look him over."

"Give him your blessing, eh?"

Jon playfully nudged the man's shoulder. "Was there anything else, my little lord?"

"Just a friend's concern for another friend."

"We're a bit more than friends, I'd say. Why are you concerned?"

"You miss Lady Margaery."

"Lady Margaery missed her home. I'm glad she's happy, now."

"Your pitiful attempts at deceit amuse me."

"I'm not allowed to miss her, remember?"

"You're allowed to do what you like, lord of the seven kingdoms remember?"

"Ha ha."

"It's okay to miss her, you know. You can't control who you fall in love with."

"I didn't fall in love with anyone."

"Maybe not yet. But you're almost there."

"She's _gone_ , Tyrion, she left. We're just old friends, now."

"She left because everyone at court despised, mistrusted or envied her. Your own little sister told the girl it'd be best if she went home."

"Sansa?"

"Yes. Out of concern for you, of course. She believed Margaery was using you."

"Everyone did," Jon sighed. His spies had told him that much. Except that one, the one from Riverrun, who'd told him of Margaery's complete disinterest. "Trust me Tyrion, she didn't want me."

"She did. Believe me, she loved you. When you failed to go to her dinner party, it hurt her deeply."

Shame coloured Jon's cheeks. "I was making preparations for Rickon."

"Sure."

"Just drop it, Tyrion. Margaery and I are friends, nothing more."

"Alright, Your Grace. I'll go find the princess's little beau."

"You do that," Jon said.

 _I hurt her deeply . . . No, I can't have, Margaery would've surely told me. If she really wanted me there, she would've invited me! She's gone, back to Highgarden where everyone loves her, her family are, and she can start her life afresh. She is no concern of mine. Think of Arya._

 _III_

 _Margaery_

Days were long. Long and hard and tiring. For a month, she had worn her smiling, graceful mask and participated in everything she was expected to, and for a month, she had gone to her bed and bawled. Bawled for everything she had lost in the past three years, without even realising they were gone. My integrity, marrying Renly took that away, my honesty, marrying Joffrey took that one, and most of all, me, my self-respect, marrying Tommen weeks after his brother's, her own ex-husband's death, had taken that away. And those months she'd spent in the black cells, with only silence and her own ragged breath as company, for a long while, that had taken her peace of mind away. It was easy to pretend. Easy to laugh when things weren't funny, and easy to dance with the strangers her father always brought to Highgarden to court her, and especially easy to tell everyone she was fine, and yes, the king was as handsome as people said, and yes, he was just and kind, and _yes_ , his direwolf was real. It wasn't easy for Margaery to fall asleep at night. It wasn't easy for her to sit with Loras and hide how she felt, when all she wanted to do was cry. It wasn't easy at all, to walk and eat and drink and remember Jon's rushed, uncaring words in his letter. _He didn't come to my goodbye party, that alone should've told me he had no true feelings. It was all in my head. All of it._ She was still glad though, glad that she'd left. Left before she got too attached. _Because it could be worse. It could. And Jon's happier too, I hear Prince Rickon has arrived and with him that wildling woman who roams the castle with Ghost._ That hurt. That hurt Margaery a lot. Hearing the girls fresh from King's Landing with their tales of Osha, Jon's second wildling love, had dug a hole in her chest. _I should've known I could never compare. Vapid, shallow me. He could only ever love a northern woman._

And even though all these things bubbled inside her, and engulfed her in her tortured dreams, she hadn't meant to fall of her horse. Hadn't meant to at all. She hadn't decided life wasn't worth living; only maybe if she closed her eyes for just a second, and just listened to the hooves of the horse and felt the wind on her face, for just a second, she could forget it all. She hadn't considered the horse slipping on some loose rock and throwing her to the ground. She hadn't considered how it would feel to watch her legs twist like that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Still not sure whether to make a dream team of Arya and Daenerys or have them be rivals for Jon's love and attention. Hm. Anyhow, another week, another chappie.**

* * *

 _Chapter Eight_

 _Osha_

Osha had been there when the king received news of Margaery Tyrell's almost fatal injury. She had watched his face fall, and a ghostly expression take over. She'd watched him storm out, whistling for Ghost to follow him, demanding for someone to ready a ship _immediately_. Osha didn't care much for the southern girl's injury, sure, but was slightly concerned of how it would affect the king. _I care for Jon, he reminds me of Bran, plus I've listened to what the people say about him, and I know he deserves a good life._ She had no romantic feelings for the boy, regardless of what the gossipers at court claimed, _he is far too young for me, too young and green,_ she merely enjoyed his company, and shared his interest of finding Bran and raising the youngest Stark boys in the best environment possible. The two had been discussing her return to Winterfell with Rickon— now that the boy had begun behaving and remembering his letters and sums—where she secretly wanted to search for Bran, when the king tore open the letter bearing the sad news, three days ago. _Anyways, this city is starting to unnerve me. Five weeks is long enough._ Daenerys's dragons especially made the wildling woman uneasy, particularly since the queen took pleasure in taunting her about them. _I'll never like her, Queen Daenerys, I can't wait until she leaves for her little seat, then she can take those dragons with her._ Osha did like the dragons though, they fascinated her; but only when Jon was there, watching them, not the dragon queen. _Everything about her screams south, it's not natural._

"Where's Ghost?" Rickon asked, the two currently sparring, as Osha continued her lessons teaching him how to fight.

"With your brother," she answered.

"But he normally let's you have him, to keep us company and make us feel at home," the boy pouted.

"Stop that girlish lip thing and lift your arm," Osha ordered.

" _Ow_!" He complained.

"I told you to lift your arm," she quipped.

"I just wanted to know why Jon's taken Ghost."

"It's _his_ wolf, Rickon, he needs no other reason."

"I know, but I thought he was my brother. We're supposed to share."

"He _is_ your brother, little man," Osha sighed, sensing a fit coming on.

"But he hasn't played with me in two days," the boy moaned.

"That's because his lady love has fallen of her horse and broken her legs and ribs," Osha snapped. "So stop being a baby, and man up. You have your own wolf."

"I didn't know Jon had a girlfriend."

"Aye," Osha said, raising her spear once again. "They broke up and she left, and then got hurt."

"If he loves her, why did they break up?"

"It's just what southerners do."

"That's stupid."

"Aye," she agreed. "So you be patient with your brother, he's very stressed."

"Okay," the little boy raised his spear too. "He'll still find Bran, won't he?"

"He promised, didn't he?"

"Yes. And so did you."

"Good little lord. Now, lift your arms and fight me."

 _III_

 _Daenerys_

Watching Jon the way he was wasn't fun at all for his aunt. Ever since news of Margaery's fall had reached him, the man had been restless and anxious, rushing to have everything done so he could make his trip to Highgarden. He had wanted to leave at once, but eventually, Daenerys and Tyrion had managed to speak sense into him, and he'd then agreed to set sail in a week, forcing Dany to speed up all her arrangements so she could go with him. It had come as a surprise to her how much Jon actually cared for the girl. _He loves her, truly, I had thought it was some crush borne from all his months celibate. Now I will have to really befriend the girl. I won't have him marrying someone who I'm not friends with. How else will I keep an eye?_

With the help of Tyrion, Varys and Grey Worm, Daenerys managed to round up all her ex-slave companions, five thousand of her Unsullied, leaving a select few at the Red Keep to watch out for Jon and send any news to her in Dragonstone, and had constructed a team of servants, cooks and maids for Dragonstone, as well. _All that is left is to find a Maester, and I am ready._ She'd also chosen a few ladies and lordlings to accompany her as wards, and fill the empty rooms. _Just two more days and we can set sail, and Jon can relax, and breathe._ Daenerys prayed each and every night for Margaery's recovery, though it cast a sour taste in her mouth to do so. _If the little wench dies on us, there'll be no restoring him._ And grudgingly she admitted, _she's not so bad. Fun. Better than Sansa._ The fact that the eldest Stark girl was accompanying them annoyed the mother of dragons, but she didn't debate the point knowing it would only cause unnecessary stress for Jon. _At least that wildling woman is staying._ What really irked Dany was that she wouldn't be there to welcome Arya, when she arrived in three weeks. It would not be smart to sail back with Jon after their trip to Dorne, she'd decided, and so planned to part with Jon in the hot country and make her way to Dragonstone from there. A part of her was happy that she could avoid the complication that was Ser Jorah, but most of her was upset at losing the chance to meet another part of Jon's old life, one that she knew she would've liked much better than the others she'd seen. _I guess I can always send letters._

"Missandei," she ordered. "Find Grey Worm and have him feed the dragons."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Send for Varys as well, please."

"Yes, my Queen," the girl bowed.

Before she allowed her mind to run away with her, Daenerys focused at the task in hand. _Find Jon, and try to keep him sane until we leave._ She had left the task in Tyrion's hands the past few hours while she prepared. _Let's hope he can keep him for another twenty minutes while I sort out the Arya issue._

 _III_

 _Jon_

 _Why is everyone so slow? Why is no-one moving? I need to see her! She could be dead! Dead and I am here in this fucking castle watching these pompous lords sip their wine while Margaery is in pain!_

Jon paced the the yard where the dragons were kept angrily. It was the only place he felt in control, for some reason, though he didn't explore the matter for fear of discovering something he certainly wasn't ready to deal with. Since he'd read Mace's letter, explaining and apologising for his delay, barely even describing what exactly had happened to Margaery, only that she was unconscious and he had to stay at his wife's incessant requests, Jon had barely even slept. He'd hardly sat down. He paced and ranted and raved and smashed things, and yelled at Ghost and rode Rhaegal, for that was the only thing that kept him level. Feeling the clouds on his backs cleared his mind. Only for a while until it all came crashing down again. Even short rests were out of the question as closing his eyes only brought gruesome images of Margaery lay still in some bed, with Maesters and family that didn't care for her. He remembered when she'd laughed with him, how she'd play with Ghost and treat him like a person, when she'd taught him how to skip and laugh and—he couldn't think about it any more. He gripped his sword until his knuckles popped, desperately trying to remember if there were any prisoners left on whom he might take out his frustration and rage. And not only was the fear of losing Margaery forever and completely rendering him almost insane, the emotions brought back painful memories of his nights on the Wall during Robb's short stint as king, where every bone in Jon's body had ached to fight alongside his brother but couldn't.

"Your Grace," his aunt's soldier said.

"Grey Worm," Jon said rudely. "What is it?"

"Her Grace has ordered me to feed the dragons."

"Then _feed_ them," Jon snapped.

For an hour or so, Grey Worm did just that.

"Your Grace."

"Grey Worm," Jon's voice was low and dangerous.

"Her Grace has given you Rhaegal, no? She planned to leave him here with you."

"And?"

"Rhaegal is fed and energised, he can fly for miles without tiring, and much faster than ships, Your Grace."

It took Jon a moment to hear what the Unsullied soldier was actually telling him. When he did, he drew the man into a tight hug, disappearing seconds later, to find parchment, quill, food and water, Tyrion and the real letter he'd wanted to send Margaery all those weeks ago.

Jon clung onto his renewed hope tightly as he scoured the castle for his favourite Lannister. _Where is the man? Always there when he is not needed and never_ —his thoughts were interrupted by Ghost rubbing his massive head against the king's legs, almost knocking the man off his feet. The wolf let out a mournful sound. Guilt nipped at Jon's heart as he bent down to stroke his companion's head.

"I know I've been mean and angry, trust me," he whispered. "But it is only because Margaery is hurt. You remember Lady Margaery, right?" The wolf stirred at the familiar sound of the woman's name who'd more often than not would be feeding him something. "Good boy," Jon smiled. "I have to go and see her, make sure she is okay. I can't take you," Ghost growled and began pushing his nose into Jon's face. "No, listen, you can't come because I'm flying there. On Rhaegal, but I need you to do something for me: when Arya comes you need to protect her."

Jon didn't know whether the wolf completely understood him, but put his hope in the fact that he'd thought the same thing the last time he'd had to leave Ghost to fend for himself and the animal had turned out fine. _And maybe I can do that thing where I slip into his skin in my dreams, make sure everything's going smoothly._ The thought had occurred to Jon more than once, as he knew it would be the perfect way to spy for himself—and to occasionally get away from the stress of being king—but lately when sleep came he was far too tired to dream.

"Remember boy, you have to look after Arya. _Arya_. She's small and looks like me. _Arya_ ," he repeated her name, praying that Ghost would remember it when the girl arrived.

The direwolf nuzzled his friend, then wandered off into the shadows; presumably looking for Arya. Jon stood watching his pet for a long time, before pinching and reminding himself he had to go.

 _III_

 _Varys_

The Spider had quickly concluded that King Jon Stark Targaryen loved Lady Margaery of House Tyrell very, very much. _I don't hate the girl, but she is not what I wanted for him._ Varys was not stupid, he understood the attraction a girl like Margaery would have for a man like Jon: exotic, wicked sense of humour, beautiful, and charming. And for a while, Varys had thought that the two might actually marry and took to listing the various ways the girl would make a good queen: _she is kind, she is smart, cunning and inspires love,_ and had even encourged Jon in his crush towards the end of the maiden's stay _._ But He had still been ecstatic when she sailed for Highgarden, seemingly gone forever. _Jon needs a warrior, someone fierce who will keep the North in him,_ he'd told himself. But now it was blatantly obvious that Jon would love nobody else, and so Lord Varys accepted the fact, as he strode to meet Daenerys, telling himself that _she will love him, at least, and I suppose that is what the king needs most._

"Lord Varys," Daenerys greeted him cordially.

"Your Grace," he bowed lowly. "How might I help?"

"As you always do," she replied. "Did my letter to Arya reach her successfully?"

"According to my sources she received both folded letters from Ser Jorah, however nobody saw her actually open them. My guess is that she hid somewhere to read them."

"Smart girl," Daenerys said. "I will need you to continue sending them, while I'm away."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"I will send them to you and trust that you'll discreetly have her receive them."

"I won't fail you."

"And have her replies sent to me without any disturbance," she added firmly.

 _She would've made a strong queen, the people would've feared her. As they do now._

"I suppose you've heard about Lady Margaery's fall?"

"I was very upset to learn of her injuries."

"As was Jon," she said. "Tell me, will she make a good queen?"

"She did once."

"Oh how silly of me to forget," she chuckled darkly. "I'll rephrase then: will she make a good wife? For Jon?"

Varys considered lying to the woman, or telling one of his infamous half-truths. In the end, he decided the full truth might be appropriate. "She is a passionate woman. She'll love passionately and wholly. She has also been raised knowing the role a wife should play, so she'll prove dutiful."

Daenerys nodded. "Will she bear children? Sons?"

"Her family have shown no difficulty in the matter as she herself has three older brothers."

"Good," Daenerys said. "I suppose he could do worse."

"Yes," Varys agreed reluctantly. "His Grace could."

"Thank you, my lord, you have proved loyal and helpful once again. Are you sure you don't wish to sail with me to Dragonstone?"

"No thank you, Your Gace," he smiled modestly. "My place is by the king."

"Or queen," she added lightly.

"Or queen," he repeated.

 _III_

 _Arya_

 _Princess Arya Stark, the only sister who accepted her baseborn sibling,_

 _I'm writing to you out of sheer curiosity; you see, your brother would have me believe you the best thing since bread and water, excluding his darling Margaery of course. So I decided to write and see for myself exactly who you are: and introduce myself. I am Queen Daenerys Targaryen of Slaver's Bay, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Shackles, Lady of Dragonstone and of course, the king's aunt. I am not sure how much you know off me, but since you're travelling with two of my most loyal and devoted knights, I'd assume you know quite a bit by now. Which I'd say is fair, since I've been hearing all about you these past few days. I must say, you seem quite interesting and and much less dull than your sister who I've already had the pleasure of meeting. I do hope you live up to your illustrious name as the 'wolf girl', I am so bored of these proper ladies with not one useful thought in their pretty heads. However, even if you do turn out to be the dullest girl to grace the land, I will still respect and protect you, for two reasons:_

 _You loved Jon._

 _You survived._

 _Unfortunately, you won't be able to write back unless they have wax, seal, ravens, paper and quill on that ship. So I will wait till you arrive in King's Landing to hear your response. Till then, Arya Stark._

 _Yours truly, Daenerys._

 _P.S. I apologise for Ser Jorah._

Arya had read the letter so many times the ink had begun to fade. _Two_ _weeks left, then I can see this queen for myself._ The queen had initially confused her so much she'd shown Jorah the letter during one of their High Valyrian lessons; consequently stopping the lesson. He had devoured each word with hungry eyes, even the line apologising for him. Afterwards, he'd simply given her back the letter and continued with the lesson as if nothing had happened. _I didn't learn much that time, then again, I hardly need to know how to read High Valyrian, speaking is fine. Dothraki doesn't even have a written form._ Dothraki had come much easier to Arya than any other language she'd come across, excluding her mother tongue, she liked how angry and scary the words sounded on her tongue and how simple forming sentences were. Once, Ser Jorah had even commented that she picked it up faster than Daenerys. _Dany, he had called her._

Although the Targaryen woman sounded like the very woman Arya would normally appreciate and aspire to be like, she couldn't help but be slightly suspicious. _Sure she freed all those slaves, but she burns her enemies alive and banished Ser Jorah when he so obviously adores her._ She couldn't stop thinking about the queen, even when she partook in her daily spar with Ser Barristan, something which she usually paid rapt attention to, and earned herself several bruises, which she mentally complained about for the rest of that day.

"You seem distracted," the captain commented.

"I am," Arya admitted: she had grown close to the man, liking his no-nonsense attitude and habit of calling her Arya or simply: 'girl'.

"Care to share?"

"Tell me about Lady Margaery."

"The Boy King's wife?"

"Ex-wife," she corrected.

"Well, she's known as Maid Margaery or the Maid of Highgarden. That should tell you enough."

 _Eugh, a proper little lady, like Sansa, what could Jon see in her?_

"A Tyrell?" The man nodded. "So her father's your lord?"

"Yes. His mother's sister is my great aunt."

 _So we might be family. In a very distant, sort of way._ "Are they any good?"

"Who, the Tyrell's?"

"Yes."

"They're ambitious. And kind," he shrugged. "They're good enough."

"I see."

"Why so many questions today? You usually don't say much."

This time, Arya shrugged. "What do you know of Lady Daenerys?"

" _Queen_ Daenerys," the captain said. "Her Grace is formidable. It is said she burnt Cersei Lannister alive and keeps her bones as a necklace."

Arya had heard this tale from the other sailors. "How can she be queen if Jon is king? They aren't married."

"Gods, no. His Grace named her Queen of Slaver's Bay, to be referred to as such. She is also his heir should he die before he has children."

 _His heir?_ The news left a peculiar feeling in Arya; she hadn't wanted anything to do with the crown, yet she'd still assumed she'd be Jon's heir or maybe Sansa. _Silly, of course he has to name her heir, she's a Targaryen, his prince father's own sister. I am only a cousin._ "I see."

"Anyways, enough of these senseless questions that your knights will be happy to answer for you. I have a ship to sail," he gave her a small smirk before marching off.

 _They are not my knights, they're Queen Daenerys'._

By the end of that day, Arya still didn't know what to feel for the new queen. _She is related to Nymeria, the Targaryen warrior, she's a warrior, like me but—but Jon might love her more._


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey! Here's chapter nine guys, hope you enjoy it. Btw, thank you all SO much for the reviews, which I love reading, and favourites, follows too, they just make me all warm and happy :D I do now have an outline for this story, although it is quite brief and vague, but I figured since so many have invested themselves in this fic that I should at least make sure there is some direction. I feel like I've made the characters (Jon, especially) quite OOC so so,e input on that, I'd really appreciate. Also, if you'd like updates on this fic, or spoilers, or the chance to just fangirl with _asoiaf_ or _got_ then please, please find me on Tumblr at _melaniechester_ or PM me. And lastly, have a merry christmas. **

_Chapter Nine_

 _Jon_

The wind was harsh and whipped Jon's cheek and blew his hair back out of his eyes. The height and the silence gave him a sense of peace he hadn't felt the past three days—the past month really. He felt tranquil, almost, empty but in a good way, and had been flying nearly tirelessly for the past day, resting only once. Rhaegal flew at immense speeds, covering hundreds of miles in what felt like minutes, yet Jon was as at ease as he would walking on the ground. Despite his calm being blatant evidence, he still refused to believe that he preferred the dragons in his moments of stress and frustration rather than Ghost or simply sword fighting as it had been at the Wall. _Gods help us all if I do, Dany wouldn't let me hear the end of it._

Sometimes it amazed Jon just how close he and Daenerys had become in the space of a year and some, he couldn't believe that the woman who he'd initially been frightened off and resented due to the news she carried had now become one of his closest confidants and friends. He would gladly put his life in her hands and vice versa. His feelings were similar towards Tyrion Lannister as well. Never in his wildest dreams had Jon imagined himself calling a Lannister his best friend, but in his mind Tyrion had certainly earned the title. Upon his impromptu departure, Tyrion had been the only person Jon went to speak to. In his haste, Jon hadn't even thought to bring his sword: Longclaw.

 _"I cannot believe you are truly doing this, Jon. It is so . . . Southern of you," Tyrion said, amused._

 _"We northerners can be spontaneous, you know."_

 _"Well, you definitely prove yourself right on that one."_

 _"So you'll do it, then?"_

 _"I run these bloody seven kingdoms for you," the man exclaimed. "I can handle your aunt."_

 _Jon rolled his eyes. "You'll tell her to leave immediately, and to take Sansa with her?"_

 _"Yes yes, and make sure Arya receives her sword fighting and reading lessons as soon as she arrives, yes I remember."_

 _"And keep an eye on Rickon, too, make sure Osha doesn't let him roam too freely."_

 _"You're beginning to sound like an overprotective mother, Your Grace."_

 _"Just make sure you remember, alright?"_

 _"I will, don't worry. You just go save your damsel."_

And save his damsel, he would. He only hoped he didn't arrive too late, for he had no idea what he'd do if some Maester told him Margaery was dead. _Do not think like that, she is alive as can be._

 _III_

 _Sansa_

"Is it true, Princess Sansa, that the king has fled on the back of his dragon?" One of the lesser ladies at court asked during breakfast.

Jon leaving had been the talk of the Red Keep the past twenty-four hours, and had left Sansa feeling unnerved, nervous and exceedingly anxious for a number of reasons. The first being that Jon wouldn't survive such a long trip on the back of his wild dragon, with no straps for safety; the second that once he reached Margaery, he'd find out that she had sent the lady away and have him hate her for it. _If I had just kept my mouth shut, Margaery would be here, alive and well._ The third, of course being how she'd survive by herself with Queen Daenerys. Still, she knew she had to keep the façade up for the benefit of everyone else, pretend that Jon's disappearance was planned and came with a good reason.

Sansa swallowed before answering, _they would never dare ask Queen Daenerys this._ "His Grace has left to see Lady Margaery."

"Whatever for?" One of the older women sneered. "She is nothing but a disgraced harlot; she doesn't deserve _our_ king."

"Oh, Hannah don't be so cynical, Lady Margaery's beautiful. You're simply jealous," the first girl quipped.

"Beauty is nothing, it will soon flee her as her honour has," Hannah said, pursing her lips.

"Like yours has, you mean?"

"Ladies," a clear, loud voice interrupted. "Gossiping at such an early hour?"

Sansa's head turned to see one of the many bane's of her many nightmares stood behind her, silver hair tied into an elaborate braid, with her fear-inducing bloodriders behind. _I'll never understand how she feels safe around savages like the Dothraki._ The few left with Daenerys in the Red Keep turned Sansa's inside to jelly whenever she saw them. _I suppose the mother of dragons would have no reason to fear them as I do._

"Your Grace," all the women at the table rose quickly to curtsy.

"Pardon our impertinence, Your Grace," Sansa said quietly. "The ladies were only curious as to where Jo—His Grace has gone."

"I know," Daenerys responded. Then to the rest of the table, "The king has left to pay his respects to the daughter of his Master of Ships. Her injuries are near fatal and the king and Lady Margaery were good friends during her stay here: it would've been rude for His Grace not to go and see her in light of these most tragic events, and offer his support to her family, his good friends."

"See, I _told_ you it had nothing to do with her being beautiful," whispered Hannah loudly.

"Lady Hannah is correct, beauty has nothing to do with it. And, if His Grace has decided that he'd like to court Lady Margaery after his visit, then he is free to do so. _Without_ the judgement or remarks of his own guests," Daenerys said sternly, giving each girl a hard glare.

 _Why do these ladies always insist on getting me in trouble? If only they'd keep their mouths shut I'd have no bother here._

"Of course, Your Grace," Hannah said. "Excuse my lapse in decorum and gratitude."

"It is excused. Now, off you go and spread the good news. You might all do well to arrange a little get-well basket for Lady Margaery, should she return here with the king."

"Yes Your Grace," the girls echoed as they haphazardly fled the room.

"You stay, Lady Sansa."

 _Oh, what have I done?_

The shaking girl faced the queen, trying very hard to keep her hands still and retain her grace and dignity. _I am a Princess, and not Joffrey's, I am Jon's, I am a Stark._

"It's been a while since we last spoke," Daenerys began. "Are you avoiding me, Sansa?"

"No, of course not, my queen," Sansa stammered. "I would not want to annoy or interrup—"

"Hush child, it was a jest," the queen sighed. "You should really work on your eager-to-please habit. It's awfully boring and frankly, irritating."

Sansa gulped, wondering what the woman would do if she allowed herself to burst into tears, as she so dreadfully wanted. "I _am_ eager to please, my queen, it is my duty to—"

"Ah, Sansa," Daenerys pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. "I don't like you, but that does not mean you have to be so visibly scared of me. Or so visibly wetting yourself. Anyhow, we're bonded through Jon, so I would not presume to hurt you unless you make a traitorous action first."

 _Really?_ The sharp admittance that Daenerys did not like Sansa came as no shock, but her wanting Sansa to grow a spine did. "But you're the queen, and you hate me so—"

"Yes, I know I'm the queen, but you're also a princess: so act like one and not some lowborn lady who needs to kiss the arse of everyone in order to be liked or tolerated. Secondly, I've found that I do not hate you. I hate Cersei Lannister. I hate Tywin Lannister. I hate his monster, the mountain was it? I hate him. I hate the slave masters back in Mereen and Astapor. You I merely dislike for mistreating Jon when he was younger."

"I am truly sorry for that."

"I've heard. But that is beside the point right now; Jon's run after Margaery and we need to stick together in in order to keep everything under control until we set sail later today."

"Set sail? I don't understand."

"What is there not to understand? Tyrion has told me I need to meet Jon in Highgarden, bring the rest of his belongings along with about ten Maesters, and then go to Dorne from there."

"Oh."

"And Jon told me I had to bring you, so we're going to have to feign tolerance or even love for each other while on the ship."

"Ye—yes, my queen."

"Queen Daenerys is fine, it makes you sound less like a servant."

"Sorry, Queen Daenerys."

"So you go pack, say goodbye to your brother and be ready by noon. We'll go to the Great Sept, receive a blessing, make a show of it and then leave."

"Yes, Queen Daenerys."

The dragon queen briskly left the small hall where Sansa had been confined to eating breakfast and lunch, her bloodriders following dutifully behind her, sparing Sansa not one glance. _It's as if they have no feelings when I'm around,_ for whenever Sansa or anyone else for that matter, happened to catch a quick look in on one of Daenerys' weekly meals with her soldiers, freed slaves, and small khal, the normally statuesque men seemed to liven up and laugh with their wives and their queen. Even Daenerys was much less frightening and scary around her own people.

Sansa was shockingly quite serene and poised, as she strolled towards Rickon's chambers. Daenerys' advice had struck some hidden chord in the Northern maid, reminding the girl of her background, her status and how she needed behave in order to resurrect her family's last name. Cersei's years on the throne, Ned Stark's murder, and Sansa's humiliating imprisonment had managed to diminish any respect for her House. It had been regained some with Jon's reign, but most people knew him as the Targaryen sent to save them all, only Jon, it seemed, remembered that he was of the North. With everyone else, the only North in him they seemed to remember was his time on the Wall, which he was almost revered and glorified for. But not his Stark heritage. _It is down to me, and maybe Bran, down to us to make House Stark what it once was._ Determination coursing through her veins, Sansa held her head high without it being forced or uncomfortable. Though, she wasn't sure she would ever stop quaking in fear whenever in the presence of Queen Daenerys, the woman just shook Sansa in a way she couldn't control.

 _III_

 _Olenna Tyrell_

The widowed Queen of Thornes had scarcely left her granddaughter's bedside since the maid's injury, a week ago. _Two broken ribs and both legs broken,_ the woman could hardly believe it. Margaery had always been a fantastic rider, and normally the one who would always be able to manage an untamed horse, which is why Olenna had quickly come to the conclusion that her granddaughter's injury's must have been intentional. The thought saddened her, and she couldn't understand how Margaery had become so depressed that she would purposefully throw herself to death. _Not death, these Maesters will fix her if it's the last thing they do in their miserable lives._

Each day Olenna would replay the last few weeks in her head, wondering just when things had become so unbearable for Marg. She laughed and talked and ate and even dressed the same, the girl hadn't shown one sign that she wasn't truly happy. _I'd even been surprised by how upbeat she'd been, I'd thought she'd be even slightly subdued at having to leave her kingly love. Only after His Grace failed to show up at our dinner had Marg been sad, and even then it had been more silent than sad. Then we got home and she brightened and I assumed family had quelled any unhappiness._

"Do you not wish to eat something, Mother?" Mace Tyrell asked, as he waddled into the room he'd dutifully avoided the past week, keeping his eyes well away from the sleeping form of his beloved daughter.

"Do _you_ not wish to summon those other Maesters you heard about?" She snapped. "Broken bones shouldn't leave her this unresponsive."

"Mother, you know Maester Lomys does his best—"

"She hasn't opened her eyes in a _week_ , you fool!"

"Mother, please calm down—"

"Gods, I must've committed some great sin to be given a son like you," she said. "Fetch the Maesters, Mace."

Mace puffed his chest. "You have no right to speak to me in that manner, mother, I am the Lord of Highgarden, and Head of this House."

"And your daughter is on the brink of death, _my lord_ , so why don't you summon the Maesters of all your vassals and bring her back to life."

"I cannot just take all the Maester's of every House, we already have the one from Redwyne that you sent for, so do not just sit there and presume you are the only one grief stricken about this, Alerie has barely slept and _Loras_ —"

Olenna tuned her son out, sighing, she already knew that everyone else was unconsolable about Margaery's fall, especially Loras, but no-one was doing _anything_ about it. She turned to her sleeping love, and raised a wrinkled hand to stroke Margaery's cheeks, willing her touch to somehow bring the maid back to consciousness. It was moments after this tender exchange that she saw it, Olenna had only looked up to see if her spineless worm of a son was still wittering on, but a dark shadow which crossed his face distracted her. She whipped her head around desperately praying that Margaery had risen, only to see some great beast soaring through Highgarden's blue, clear skies. It took Olenna only two seconds before her son to comprehend what was happening.

 _Oh gods Marg,_ the old woman smiled, _you are a treasure._

* * *

 **Sorry this is kinda short but I felt that this was a perfect place to finish rather than go to Arya's POV which I planned which would've basically been two/four hundred words of her moaning about Ser Jorah or hiding in some corner, eavesdropping.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Tenth chapter already! Thanks for reviews, follows, favourites and everything else! I promise one of these days I'll list all your names so everyone knows how awesome you guys are! So for my tenth chapter, I have a little something special. A reunion for our lil' lovers. Fun Fact: I didn't realise until like after my fourth update in this fic that I might just be the only jon x margaery shipper in the world. One of my reviewers called it _'unique'_ so I guess that's a polite way of saying 'wtf is wrong with you mel, where in _asoiaf_ or _got_ did you find anything that puts these two together?!'.**

* * *

 _Chapter Ten_

 _Jon_

Jon had finally arrived. His lips dry and chapped and his eyes narrowed against the salty air of the sea, now that Rhaegal had lowered closer to the ground. He wasn't sure how, exactly, he knew where he was, it was as if he could almost feel Margaery's presence in this bright, loud place. _It shouldn't have been like this, I should be on a ship, with Margaery, coming to ask her father for her hand in marriage._ During his flight Jon had found quite a lot of time to think things through, and came to the decision that he wasn't leaving Highgarden without Margaery. He didn't care whether it was as his friend or his wife. All he knew was that he couldn't leave her. _Dany all but gave me her blessing anyways, with her on my side we can convince the small council and I can court Margaery._ Because he _would_ court her, he promised it would not be like her other marriages where she'd been forced into the vows not even truly knowing the person, or after only two weeks of laying eyes on their face; this time they would laugh together, walk together, talk together, and become one emotionally before doing so officially in some sept. Jon had even already accepted that they would wed in a sept; he knew those were the gods Margaery had been raised worshipping and he knew they were also the gods that the Targaryens had adopted when Aegon first conquered; it was expected of him to marry before the seven, and unforgivable for him not to do so. However, he did plan to visit Winterfell after the marriage and have the union blessed before his own old gods. _I am getting ahead of myself. I do not even know if she loves me back, after all, she left me._ Yet he couldn't stop himself from doing so as he neared Highgarden's green landscape, and flowery towers.

"Almost there, boy," he leaned forward to stroke his dragon, who let out a small breath of fire, causing Jon to laugh good-naturedly. "It will be nice for you to meet Margaery, she'll love you," Jon said, more to himself, thinking on how close she and Ghost had become before she left. He wondered what she would think when she saw him ride into her town on the back of a fire-breathing beast. _That's if she's awake._

Around thirty minutes later, Jon's heart began to quicken, as he flew over Highgarden, admiring its symmetrical landscape. For a moment, all his other pre-conceived notions about southerners and the importance they placed on beauty fled him, all he could think of was how pretty the place was, how much he would've liked to bring the wildlings somewhere as beautiful as this, or the poor boys back on the Wall who'd only ever seen the shit-filled streets of Flea Bottom and tree-filled roads leading to Castle Black. He suddenly realised that everyone should have a chance at seeing places such as Highgarden. A thought entered his head as Rhaegal breathed a stream of fire, warming the air and scorching the tops of some trees. The people below screamed in fright, and Jon's reflection was ended as he realised he would now have to find somewhere to land his dragon, and get to Margaery as quickly as possible without being attacked by the people of Highgarden.

Spying a large open stretch of grass, with no people around, Jon—rather gracefully—landed. On his descent, however, he happened to fly past the castle which the Lord of Highgarden and his family resided; it took every ounce of his self-control not to fly straight inside the building and search for his girl.

"Stay here," Jon told Rhaegal as he climbed off and immediately began walking.

He must've walked for hours before he laid eyes on the castle again, and still a large labyrinth was still between the two, which Jon knew he had no hope of navigating by himself. With a feeling of irritation and exhaustion, he trudged towards a gaggle of girls all on their knees praying, knowing he'd have to enlist their help. Why are they praying here, he wondered, and not in their world-renowned sept.

"Oh, my, Jenna, isn't that the king?" One of the girls whispered fervently, eyeing Jon.

"Gods, Collin wasn't lying he really did fly here on the back of his dragon," Jenna answered, awe-struck.

"We must be hallucinating," another girl breathed.

"Good afternoon," Jon greeted them politely.

They all hastily rose to their feet, curtsying hurriedly. "Is it true? Are you King Jon?" Jenna asked.

The first girl elbowed her. "Your Grace," she said. "Pardon my friend's lack of demure."

Jon sighed internally, hoping these girls wouldn't delay him too long, else he'd have the entire population of Highgarden on his tracks. "Yes. And your friend is pardoned."

The girls immediately blushed and curtsied again. "Might I ask why you're in Highgarden, Your Grace?"

"To visit Lady Margaery," he replied. "May I ask why you were all praying?"

"For Lady Margaery, of course," one girl said. "The city misses her greatly, she's the life and soul of Highgarden."

"Yes," another girl chimed in. "She used to come down and take tea with us, or bring us on her travels."

"And without her," Jenna added. "The entire family has gone recluse. Ser Loras hasn't left his chambers and Lady Olenna hasn't left Lady Margaery's bedside since the accident. We are all distraught."

For some reason, the fact that everyone in the garden city was grieving and sad pleased Jon. Re-ignited hope in him that Margaery was healing; _they must be tying their hardest, if the entire city misses her so._ It also reminded him that the Queen of Thorns would never let her darling granddaughter die.

"It pleases me to hear how much Lady Margaery is missed," Jon said. "The news, though, saddened me so, that I could not even wait on a ship to bring me here."

The girls all cooed in chorus. "Then we must not delay you," Jenna said. "We'll bring you to the castle at once, before everyone realises that you are truly here and harass you."

As they led him through the maze, Jon couldn't help but think, _give a girl a tale of romance and they'll do anything for you._

 _III_

 _Sansa_

The farewell ceremony held as Sansa, Daenerys, and all their other companions left King's Landing was strange. The High Septon—who Daenerys newly appointed to replace the one who had imprisoned Margaery—blessed the ship and their journey, wishing them good luck and expressing sorrow that he could not do so for his king. Daenerys then told Sansa they'd be the last ones to board the vessel, to make sure everything went as planned. It was lucky that Daenerys had the sense to do so, for this was when things had become strange. All the citizens gathered to see them off almost simultaneously kneeled, while a row of young children towards the front of the crowd held huge candles above their heads, declaring that they would keep the city warm and ready for their king and his lady. Sansa had peered at the silver-haired queen out the corner of her eye, gauging the woman's reaction; startled to find that the she wore an amused smile, one that reached her eyes. Upon thinking over it, Sansa began to understand why Daenerys was pleased with the show the commoners put on and not shocked or pleasantly surprised: because she'd planned it. _How could I have forgotten, she spent nearly all morning in the city, giving out food and coin, speaking well of Jon and Margaery, and expressing the king's plans to rejuvenate the city. She is so smart, much smarter than Cersei._ Two days on the ship had proved that much to Sansa, along with the fact that when she wasn't 'hugging the ground with her eyes', Daenerys found her company 'tolerable' and though they hadn't become friends, they had become companions. Like kin, Queen Daenerys said, kin that you hate but love at the same time. Like my brother; the mad one I named Viserion for.

"Princess Sansa," Missandei announced, drawing the maid from her thoughts. "Queen Daenerys requests your presence."

"Thank you," answered Sansa, rising from her vanity table where she'd been writing a letter for Arya. _It is sad that I will miss her homecoming._ "Where will I find Her Grace?"

"In her chambers. I am to escort you," the young girl informed her.

 _Escorted by an eleven year old, how funny._ Though Sansa knew that the queen's newly titled lady-in-waiting was not one to underestimate: the girl was on friendly terms with half the Unsullied soldiers who all saw her as a younger sister they needed to fiercely protect, and was one of the very few people whom the dragons didn't breath fire at on sight. _And she is one of Queen Daenerys' best friends. You should never trifle with those who have powerful friends._ Royal friends. Experience and Petyr Baelish had taught her that much.

Once they arrived, Missandei allowed Sansa to enter first before following. Daenerys was stood in the middle of her rather large room, silver hair tumbling freely down her back glinting in the light, wearing a white dress which clung to her figure; the complete contrast of Sansa who had arranged her hair in an elaborate style Margaery had taught her and wore a fitted but loose navy gown, which flared out from her waist impressively. _Little sweetrobin told me I looked like the night sky in this._

"Your Grace," Sansa curtsied, trying carefully not to simper.

"Lady Sansa." Daenerys, it seemed, would never refer to Sansa with the title Princess, unless they were in the 'right kind of company'. "You look well."

"As do you, Your Grace."

"The boys giving you any trouble?"

"No," Sansa shook her head, repressing a shudder at the crude remarks some of the lowborn sailors had made. "Dry Sand . . . Persuaded them to stop."

Daenerys grinned. "I see. So the little princess is well then?"

"Very much, so. And you?"

"Well I am not. Drogon has flown off again, and Viserion behind him. I have received _no_ word from Jon, and too much word from Tyrion, who claims that court is too quiet without me, and that the City Watch are rebelling against my keeping the dragons at the Red Keep."

"Your Grace," Sansa stammered, unsure of what to say. "The dragons have left the Red Keep, anyway. And the City Watch are under your command."

"They're under Jon's."

"Same thing," Missandei smirked.

"If only," Daenerys said. "But alas, Jon seems to have grown into his role and no longer seeks my advice on ruling."

"Lord Tyrion will handle the City Watch accordingly," said Sansa. "And we will reach Jon in days at this pace."

"I know, I know," the queen muttered. "I still wish I could've just flown there."

"You were needed on the ship, my queen," Missandei said.

"Yes, it seems I'm always needed since Jon flew off," she mused. "Anyhow, I brought you here for a reason Sansa. It seems Petyr Baelish wishes to have an audience with you."

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath, her palms beginning to moisten. "Truly?"

"Truly. He attempted to send you a raven, but it was intercepted by Varys, who took the liberty of reading it—on my instructions."

"What did it say?" Sansa was not at all concerned that the letter had been read.

"It was very formal and straight to the point. He claims the child misses you, and that you might also miss the Eyrie. Do you?"

"No."

 _I'll never go back. In the Vale I was Alayne Stone. Tricked into thinking I was some protégé of Petyr's, smart and cunning like he, and all I was, was a pawn. To be used and sold to some lord for his gain. I had no voice there. Nothing. Here I have my name back, I have brothers, and Dry Sand and I will soon have Arya again. And maybe, if Queen Daenery's attitude towards me remains like this, I will have my confidence back, too._ "Never."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Not even to see that small boy so enamoured with you?"

"Lord Robin can come to see me, at the Red Keep once I return. He might like the sun and the city. It was his lord father's wish to have him fostered somewhere away from the mountains where his health might improve," Sansa tacked on the last bit, remembering a conversation Petyr had had with her aunt moons ago.

"The boy is sickly, is he not? Would he survive the voyage?"

"He will have to. The Lord of the Vale will have to travel sometime, surely."

"So you do not wish to see them or the Eyrie."

"I do rather miss Robin, I would like to see him. But I do not wish to go to the Eyrie."

"By yourself, you mean?"

"Pardon?"

"This Petyr frightens you."

"I-I-"

"Oh don't return to the stuttering," Daenerys sighed. "It's fine if he does, you'll just have to make it much less obvious."

"He is—our relationship was not . . . I do not wish to go back."

"That's alright—you weren't going anyway. Too far away and I do not like that man. No you'll be going to Dorne, as planned, after our stint in Highgarden."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But you might do well to remember that you are currently Lady of Winterfell, Sansa."

"Yes?"

"You are every bit as powerful as Petyr Baelish—and cousin to the king. He need not frighten you."

"I—" _she's being nice to me!_ "Thank you, Queen Daenerys."

"Don't go getting too many ideas. My promise about stepping out of line still stands—firmly."

"Of course."

As she walked back to her room, Sansa thought on the queen's words, a reflective expression upon her face. Her life and identity had been upturned and ravaged so often the past few years, that even when she acknowledged that she could now be herself, sometimes it still didn't register in her mind that she was now Lady of Winterfell, until Rickon came of age. She had her own power, in the North at least. _I have a home._ Though, often when she closed her eyes and dreamt of returning to Winterfell, a part of her ached to stay in King's Landing, with the only family she's laid eyes on in years. Idly, she wondered whether they'd allow her to take Dry Sand to Winterfell when she inevitably returned.

 _III_

 _Jon_

Being king, Jon had assumed he would never be told to wait. Especially when he'd literally flown across miles of water. _To see her, and now they tell me I must wait. Wait! I have waited days._ It took every ounce of control in the northman's body to remain seated and still while he watched servants scutter to and fro, heads bowed; and heard harsh whispers that held Margaery's name.

For the half an hour it had taken him and those girls to navigate the labyrinth entrance to the magnificent castle, Jon had managed to distract himself from the real reason he's rushed so gallantly to Highgarden, and immersed himself in the chuckle-worthy tales of his companions, marvelling proudly at how intensely Margaery seemed to have impacted theirs and many other's lives with her mere presence. He was not a fool, he knew a good portion of it must have been fake on Margaery's part, yet it didn't stop him from loving the maid even more. _Where is Mace?_

Yet, when he'd finally arrived at the castle and been dutifully led to Lord Willas—as Mace was said to busy with the Maesters—and poured out his heart, his wish to see Margaery at once, and his offer of the Maesters he'd had Daenerys collect from the Citadel, the man had told Jon with no lack of apathy to wait in the drawing room, while he informed his father and grandmother of the king's impromptu visit. Jon had expected to be led immediately to Margaery's room, he'd expected people to fall over themselves to show him to her. He'd been gobsmacked when the crippled man hobbled from the room despondently, with a low and meaningless Your Grace falling from his lips as the large doors shut.

 _It has been twenty minutes. Twenty fuck—_

"Your Grace," Mace Tyrell entered the large room. "I apologise for having you wait this long, I was otherwise occupied."

"I didn't ask to see you," Jon answered, surprising even himself with his sharp tone. "My lord," he added, hoping it would excuse his previous rudeness.

However, the round man did not seem to notice what had happened, and only attempted once more, to hide the weariness and grief he had been wearing since his daughter's fall. "I am told you flew here."

"Yes."

"On the back of one of Her Grace's dragons."

"Rhaegal is as much mine as—" Jon paused, counted to ten, breathed, and opened his eyes. "Mace," he began. "I need to see Margaery."

The man regarded his king, and berated himself. Mace prided himself on being a man with connections and friends in the right places—therefore he ensured that he was always polite and simpering to anyone of higher station than himself. He had allowed the discouraging news from the Maester to dull his senses. He had the king in his home, before him, ruffled and impatient to see his daughter—his single, maiden daughter.

"Then you shall," Mace said. "Follow me, Your Grace."

 _Finally._

 _III_

 _Olenna Tyrell_

 _On the back of Her Grace's dragon . . ._ Olenna still couldn't believe her Margaery had bewitched the king so much, that the man could not even wait for a ship to bring him to her, but instead flew for what must've been days on end, uncomfortably on the back of a scaly dragon, and had insisted on seeing Margaery at once. _My Marg truly is something else._ With some renewed hope, Olenna cradled her granddaughter's head in her lap. She'd happily come to the conclusion that if the king was so invested in Margaery's health, then Mace would surely have to employ all the Maesters in the Reach to fix her, and even hoped that Jon himself had some way to help heal her too.

"Willas," the old lady said. "Where is your father? How long has he kept His Grace?"

"I don't know, grandmother," the man replied sullenly, staring intently at his sister. "What is his rush to see her, anyhow? Ten minutes, an hour, a day, she is the same. Always."

"You must not speak so disrespectfully of our king," Olenna chided. "Or his wishes. Unlike yourself and your family, others like to be with their loved ones during hard times and not hide away."

"Grandmother," Willas said sharply.

"What? Am I wrong? Even Loras hasn't shown his pitiful face in days—"

"Because he can't bear to leave his room and _not_ see her gallavanting about wit—"

"And Garlan has immersed himself in that goddamned wife and child of his and refuses to acknowledge—"

"What is he supposed to do, grandmother? Ignore his family?"

"And do not get me started on that mother of yours—"

"Grandmother!" Willas snapped. "Not everyone is as strong as you. Do you not understand how difficult it is to come here and watch her, watch her, she who is usually so full of life, lie here, not _moving_ , not—"

"Straight through here, Your Grace," the two heard Mace say.

"Rise," Olenna snapped, before doing so herself.

Olenna was startled, to say the least, when she laid eyes on her king for the first time in weeks. She hadn't known what to expect, but what she saw certainly wasn't it. His Grace wore an expression of impatience and frustration, and an outfit that looked worn and ruffled. He barely even nodded at the nobility in the room before striding closer towards the laying girl. Olenna was shocked to see how wide his eyes became. _He is enchanted with her. Gods . . ._

"Why isn't she breathing," the king rasped. "She isn't dea—"

"No," Willas said immediately. "Your Grace."

"My lord," Jon said. Then, seemingly remembering his good form, "My lady, it is pleasure to see once again. You must visit me at King's Landing once Lady Margaery is well."

"It is an immense pleasure to see you," the withered woman replied. "My dear Marg would be over the moon if she knew you went through such trials to visit her bedside."

"I needed to make sure she was . . . That everything is . . . That every measure is being taken to ensure her recovery."

"I am glad that someone, at least, shares my concerns."

"Mother," Mace hissed. "Forgive her, Your Grace, she forgets herself in these distraught times."

"Forgiven," Jon waved an uninterested hand, and inched closer towards Margaery. "May I . . ."

"Of course, Your Grace," Mace gestured for Jon to make his way towards the bed.

The room held its breath as the king of five months and a few days cautiously stepped towards the sleeping bed, all impatience and frenzy fleeing him in the pivotal moment. His breath balled itself up and hid in his throat, as he admired Margaery's chestnut curls, feathered out against her pillow; her milky skin that seemed to glow even in her bedridden state; her plump, pink lips, that he ached to see curl up into her customary grin. Gingerly, Jon placed his fingertips against her cheek and sighed. It was still warm.

Olenna watched the ordeal, engrossed, as she silently thanked the gods for taking the Lannister's off the throne, for killing Renly Baratheon, for making her Margaery wait until her feelings could fester truly, and for Jon Snow. I _always wanted her to marry someone powerful, with whom her life could be comfortable, yet I always wanted her to be happy and in love, now, thank the gods, she has both._

"What do the Maesters say, my lord?" Asked Jon, without ever taking his eyes off Margaery.

"Nothing encouraging, Your Grace," answered Mace somewhat tiredly.

"Tell me," Jon ordered.

"They say that though her legs are healing, the damage done to her head may take longer to rectify, and the longer it takes, the less chance she has of waking up."

Jon inhaled sharply, as did Willas. "And what of her ribs?"

"Your Grace?"

"I was told she'd broken two of her ribs."

"Only fractured, my king," Willas supplied.

"I see. So they are healed, then?"

"Mostly. Once she wakes, they say they will apply a cream which will give her chest strength."

"So her head. . . " Jon's voice trailed off.

"Your Grace," Olenna spoke up, determined that this man would wed her granddaughter. "I have suggested Maesters from across The Reach be brought in to aid her head injury. The Maester here is sorrowful excuse for a healer and has grown lazy with nothing else to heal except my grandsons sword cuts."

"I agree," Jon said. "Queen Daenerys sails here with ten Maesters, five fresh from the Citadel and five old with experience."

Willas stared at the man awe-struck, while Mace sputtered. "You are a wise and kind man, Your Grace," Olenna smiled.

"I take care of my own," Jon said, running his fingers through Margaery's hair. "Hopefully, she will have woken by time Daenerys arrives."

"Hopefully," Willas echoed, rising to his hobbled feet. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, but I must go and check on my brother and his wife. News of your presence may not have reached them."

The king seemed as if he couldn't care less who Willas went to check on. "Aye," he murmured.

"I will go to, as well, Your Grace, tell my wife and Loras that you are here."

Jon did not even bother replying.

Once the two men left, Olenna sat back down by Margaery's head. In King's Landing, the woman had suspected the king held feelings for her granddaughter, but certainly not to the extent being displayed to her. _I didn't know. How could I, when Marg refused to speak of him unless to state firmly that she had no intentions of wedding him? She cannot refuse now, he flew here for her. Lifeless and unmoving and he still adores her._ Olenna's insides warmed. _I suppose it was all worth it . . . Renly, Cersei, Tywin and Joffrey, all worth it for this. For a man who treasures her above all else._


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay so commundrum . . . . I have run out of any pre-written chapters, so this is basically the most recent chapter I have written for I Am A Stark. So let me know whether you'd all prefer me to take a few weeks away so I can write up some more then post them in a regular schedule as I have been doing or simply upload whenever I finish one?**

* * *

 _Chapter Eleven_

 _Daenerys_

"Is that for Princess Arya, my queen?" Missandei inquired after the letter Dany was writing.

"Yes," Daenerys replied, as she dotted her last sentence.

"Do you need me to send it off, my queen?"

"Yes, that would be helpful. Ensure nobody touches or sees it."

"Yes, my queen."

"And fetch Grey Worm. Tell him to come to me at once."

Missandei nodded dutifully before leaving. Daenerys took the silence to think, beginning with her own lady-in-waiting . . . _It took ages for the small council to approve of the title, claiming she was of too low birth to be companion for the queen. Of course Varys supported me, who is of lower birth than he? Yet he is loyal, loyal as Tyrion, whose birth was considered higher than mine own at one point. Ah Tyrion, I wonder how he fares without Jon and I. I do rather miss him._

"My queen." Grey Worm announced.

"Grey Worm," she called. "We arrive at Highgarden tomorrow. Have you taken out the necessary checks?"

"Yes my queen. I spoke with the other captains on the other ships: there are four thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two Unsullied soldiers, two hundred and five ex-slaves, seventy handmaidens and squires, forty kitchen servants, and ten healers."

"Good," at least that's all in order. "Lady Sansa?"

"Princess Sansa is as usual. She is quiet and only speaks with Dry Sand."

"Have you spoken to Dry Sand?"

"Yes. He seems very happy with Sansa. He tells me she is sad often."

"I see," Daenerys murmured. "Instruct Dry Sand to keep a close eye on her."

"Of course, my queen."

"Thank you." With that, Grey Worm turned to leave. "Grey Worm," she called to his fleeting figure. "Missandei seems uncomfortable on deck, I fear the boys are being vulgar. You know what to do."

"Yes, my queen," he answered grimly.

As he left, Dany couldn't help but marvel at how far she'd come and how much she'd gained. And how much I've lost. Drogo, Rhaego, Viserys, that house with the red door. Despite her losses, Daenerys still felt content with how things had played out. She'd lost Viserys, but she'd gained Jon, and in her heart, she held much more affection for him than her crazed brother. However, she hadn't filled Drogo's spot in her life. And she feared she would never fill Rhaego's . . . _Don't think like that,_ she berated herself, _Jon will have children and they will be like my own._

She missed her nephew greatly.

 _III_

 _Jon_

Two days had seen Jon join Olenna in her bedside vigil. He had left Margaery precisely three times. Twice to relieve himself and once to carry out a few mandatory kingly duties, such as announcing that he was, in fact, residing in Highgarden for the forceable future, and write a few letters to Prince Doran, who'd been expecting him and Daenerys the following week. There had been no change in Margaery's health besides a slight twitch when Jon laughed at something Olenna said, that had him staring intently at the girl for the next two hours searching for any other sign of recovery. There was none.

During their two days together, Olenna and Jon had grown quite close, adopting a friendly banter, and bonding over mutual concern for Margaery, and mutual annoyance at Mace's reluctance to cause the fuss needed to get every healer in the Reach at the castle immediately. Deep down, Jon understood the man's actions, understood that sometimes duty came before family, and that it did not necessarily mean the man cared for his daughter any less than Jon or Olenna, but it still didn't stop him from being irritated by it. _I left an entire kingdom in the lurch for her, and he cannot even summon a few more Maesters!_

"Good morning, Your Grace," Ser Loras looked the epitome of misery as he stepped into the quiet room, hair unwashed and uncombed, clothes ragged. "Grandmother."

Jon acknowledged the young man with a polite nod; he knew Mace had ordered his family members to visit the king once a day in order to be good hosts and build some sort of friendship with the him, and since Jon spent all of his time in Margaery's room, it caused most of the Tyrells some pain to carry out their patriarch's instructions.

"You look horrid, Loras," Olenna said. "How can you present yourself to His Grace looking like that?"

"Lady Olenna," Jon said, pitying the poor boy. "He's fine. I probably don't look my best."

"You look fine, Your Grace, and it's understandable for you since you've been otherwise engaged; Loras has done nothing but sulk in his room."

"I've told you, it's Jon when we're alone," Jon hoped to take the heat of a seething Loras.

"Then you must call me Grandmother," the woman insisted. "Any person so clearly enamoured with my Margaery is family to me."

Jon smiled wearily. "So, Ser Loras, how are you these days? Apart from the obvious events."

"I'm well, Your Grace."

"How fares your jousting?"

"I haven't jousted in a while. There have been no tourneys. Your Grace."

"I shall have to throw one. To celebrate when Margaery recovers."

"Yes," Loras brightened somewhat. "It is admirable that you came so far just to see her. Many around the palace are saying—"

"Loras, the king is not interested in rumours," ever since Jon had revealed that Margaery's time at the Red Keep had been plagued by jealous and hateful girls spreading whispers, Olenna had come to venomously hate even the notion of them. "He has come to see Margaery because he loves her."

Jon blushed slightly and gave Loras a rueful smile. "Then the rumours are correct, Grandmother."

"For once," the woman snorted.

"I understand that you and your sister are very close," Jon cut in.

"Yes," Loras nodded. "She's my other half."

Jon sensed some hostility in the other man's tone, and decided to wade carefully. "Yes, it was for you that she came back. Your relationship is enviable, how I wish my brother were alive and here."

"I-I am sorry for your loss," Loras remembered Catelyn Stark visiting Renly in order to petition some alliance between him and her son, Robb. "Everyone should have a sibling, I think. Especially one close in age."

"I agree," Jon said.

"I hope this means plenty of great-grandchildren for me," Olenne huffed.

The two men chuckled.

 _III_

 _Arya_

"How much longer?"

"Just a few days, girl," the captain replied.

"You said that last week," she accused.

He peered down at her. "Don't you have some knight to parry with?"

Arya crossed her arms. "I've already had my daily sword lesson."

"And what about the reading ones?"

"I know how to read," Arya quipped.

"Ah, I see. Well you're going to have to find something else to occupy your time because we don't arrive in King's Landing for approximately four days."

"I have," she said. "You."

"How can I occupy you, girl?"

"Tell me what's going on in Westeros."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"With my brother and this Lady Margaery."

"You know the same as me," he replied. "His Grace has flown to Lady Margaery's bedside to be with her during her injury."

 _I know that, I want to know more._ "Is that all?"

"It is said he loves her."

Arya rolled her eyes. "What of Queen Daenerys?"

"Her Grace is most likely sailing behind him."

"Why would she sail when she has dragons of her own?"

"You'll have to ask her, I suppose."

"Ha ha. I will."

Grumbling under her breath, Arya stalked off, sniffing her underarms while she walked, only to be chastised by Ser Barristan for it moments after, which worsened her sour mood. Since receiving news that Jon wouldn't be there when she arrived at the Red Keep, she'd permanently been in a sour mood, only lightened when she had her Dothraki lessons. She had been so excited to see Jon, and Sansa even, and curious to hear more about this Margaery person. She was still on the edge about Queen Daenerys, but when she'd been told that she definitely wouldn't be seeing the dragon queen, it had disheartened her. The only person on board the ship unhappier than Arya had to be Ser Jorah, who'd become a recluse mute upon hearing that he wouldn't be seeing his dearly beloved any time soon. With drooping shoulders, Arya returned to her room, wondering whether she should crawl into that hole she'd found last week and eavesdrop on the two young sailors who met up each week in the empty store room to fornicate and sometimes discussed things in King's Landing or simply return to her chambers. In the end, she decided not to, not having the stomach for their over-the-top sentiments.

 _III_

 _Sansa_

Sansa stood up on deck as their ship hauled into Old Town. Sailing had never been something Sansa enjoyed, but she'd come to enjoy the sport during her most recent voyage. The usually calm ship had soothed the girl and allowed her to organise many thoughts; her new friendship with Daenerys which had been strengthened during the trip, had also come to make the girl enjoy her ride. As she watched the green pastures of The Reach draw in closer, Sansa exhaled a long breath of relief, excited to finally see the place she'd held as her heaven since being tempted with it by Margaery all those years ago.

"This is it, my princess?" Dry Sand questioned.

"Yes," Sansa replied. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It is. A very long boat ride. We could not have just rode?"

Sansa shrugged. "We could've. I think it is cheaper and less hassle to use ships. And Queen Daenerys needs them, so she can sail to Dragonstone afterwards."

"You enjoyed the ride?"

"Very much," she smiled wistfully. "Relaxing, no?"

This time, Dry Sand shrugged, causing Sansa to chuckle. "I guess not."

"Princess Sansa," Missandei appeared behind the two. "Dry Sand, how are you?"

"Well, my lady."

"Just Missandei will do," the caramel girl said sweetly, slipping into Low Valyrian, placing a hand on the soldier's arm. "Her Grace sends her regards, and hopes you enjoyed the trip."

"I enjoyed it fine," Dry Sand said. "Tell Her Grace I am thankful for the opportunity to sail with her."

"She also asks after the princess."

"My princess is quiet, but seems peaceful."

Missandei nodded, and then returned back to the Common Tongue. "I came here to inform you that we will reach Old Town within the hour."

"Thank you," Sansa said, slightly uneasy at the conversation that took place without her. "How will we make it to Highgarden?"

"By horses, I believe. You will of course be travelling by a horse drawn carriage. "

"And Dry Sand?"

"I am not sure, princess. I will ask Her Grace."

"Thank you."

Missandei curtsied then left, leaving Sansa feeling out of sorts. _Why did she come? She never usually speaks to me unless on Queen Daenerys' orders?_ The girl glanced at her personal guard, but he showed no clue in his expression of what had transpired between him and Missandei in their low, incomprehensible words. Sansa shook her head and focused once more on the upcoming land, wondering whether she'd meet her true love on this trip.

 _III_

 _Olenna_

 _Where are those blasted twins?_ For the first time in days, Olenna was away from Margaery's sickbed and hobbling towards her daughter-in-law's drawing room with a determined mind, and angry eyes. Though she knew no physical harm would come to her in her own son's castle, Olenna still felt all the safer with her seven foot guards: Arryk and Erryk, who also provided her with some entertainment. The only reason the woman had even considered leaving her sick protégé was because Olenna knew she was in good hands with Jon, who wouldn't even dream of leaving until she returned. _At least someone here loves my Marg,_ she grumbled in her head.

"My lady," a maidservant said. "Lady Alerie has requested that any visitors be sent away."

"I'm no visitor, I'm her mother-in-law," Olenna replied. "So you can step aside, child."

The young girl looked slightly uncomfortable as she moved gingerly towards the right. "My lady is distraught over her daughter's injury and cannot—"

"Your lady is not the only one," Olenna said as she strode into the room.

Lady Alerie had always been a pretty woman—and one who knew her duty and her role, the qualities that had led Olenna to telling her husband that this was the woman their eldest son should marry. Someone who wouldn't get in the way of Olenna's plans for Highgarden, or turn her son against her, like that Lannister woman would've, had the union between her and Mace gone through. No, no, Alerie Hightower was and is a simple and dutiful woman. _She has given my son four healthy children, she has never presumed to tell him how to rule the Reach and she has never objected to my opinions on the matter. Or my actions regarding her children, my Marg in particular. Had she bothered to, Margaery may have been turned into a bumbling, ambitious old idiot like her father, or a silent, pretty woman like her mother._ Olennq still had no idea how she could've reared someone as inept as Mace, but she made up for it with her mentoring of her granddaughter.

"Mother," Alerie croaked, looking the epitome of beauty. As always. "I had Maya tell any visitors—"

"And I had Maya step aside. What are you doing, woman?"

"I am mourning," she replied.

"For the living? Margaery isn't dead, she's downstairs."

"Unconscious."

"So that is why you can't spare an hour to sit with her? Talk with her, like the Maesters suggested?"

"She has you."

"She always has done—the lucky girl. But you're her mother, you should be there with her. And all that sentimental tit aside, we have an appearance to keep up."

"Olenna, not now," the woman said tiredly. "Thirty years I've kept up with your appearances, so forgive me if I need a rest."

"Rest," Olenna scoffed. "Rest when the king doesn't reside by your daughter's bed."

"Of course," Alerie muttered. "It's not really about us being there for Marg, it's just about kissing up to His Grace. Aren't you tired of these political games you always play, Olenna? Look at what playing with royalty achieved last time. We're lucky we still have our titles and land."

"No thanks to you," Olenna quipped. "I am the driving force behind the Tyrell name and I resent some jumped up maid from Hightower telling me I've done a bad job of it. You're lucky you're even here, Alerie, and not married to some knight."

"You're a Tyrell by marriage," she spat. "Just like me. We're both jumped up maids, the only difference is I've done my duty and stood by my husband whereas you've taken it into your head to revolutionise the entire House, putting my only daughter and youngest son in jeopardy doing so!"

"Not revolutionise—just keep up with current events. I saw an opportunity for Marg and I took it. Despite her beauty and who her father is, she's still the youngest child, fourth in line from any inheritance. Had I left it to you, she'd be married to some jouster with pretty eyes and a charming smile; _I_ married her to a _king_ —"

" _Three_ kings," Alerie cut in spitefully.

"I would've made her a queen, had anyone but Margaery heeded my advice. Stupid louts, the lot of them."

"Who?"

"Men. Renly, Joffrey, Tywin, and Mace particularly."

"I only wanted Margaery to be happy. She needn't have married anyone so soon in my opinion, she has three older brothers to take care of her. Unlike us, a political marriage wasn't necessary for her. She could've happily lived out her days here with Willas. I told Mace so, but you managed to convince him to send her to those Lannisters, preying on his ambitious streak."

Olenna sighed. "I regret some of my actions, supporting the Lannisters one of them. Had I listened more intently to the sailors, I would have heard of Queen Daenerys and sent Garlan or Loras to her. But I will not apologise for trying to give Margaery a position of power, where she wouldn't have to simper and smile for the rest of her days. Where she would be a queen."

" _The_ queen, wasn't it?" Alerie smiled weakly. "I apologise too. Without you, I doubt things in Highgarden would be so prosperous; Mace can be short-sighted at times."

"Yes, very much so. It is a good thing he has a wonderful woman to guide him. And you, of course," Olenna winked, and Alerie chuckled.

For a while, Olenna had sensed the hostility between herself and her daughter-in-law, and had meant to address it earlier, but had been delayed by Margaery's fall. It wasn't the first time the two had disputed: it was bound to happen with Olenna being so headstrong and ruthless, while Alerie was soft and content yet firm. Usually Margaery would quietly and subtly diffuse any issues, but without the girl, the two women were forced to verbally have it out instead. Now that it had been sorted, Olenna moved onto the more pressing issue.

"I came up here to rouse you, we have a royal visitor."

"I have already been to see His Grace, and he pardoned me from any more painful meetings—"

"Not Jon, the soft hearted thing he is," Olenna said. "Queen Daenerys, mother of dragons. Infinitely more stern and a lot less forgiving than her nephew. I suggest you pull yourself together so that you may receive her."

"Oh, I forgot about her," Alerie breathed out heavily. "Alright. I will find Mace and have a feast laid out for them."

"And fetch one of the boys, instruct them to entertain Princess Sansa."

"Maybe Loras . . ."

"He'll scare the poor girl with his miserable state, and sour mood. No no, have Willas do it."

"I will. Goodness, so much royalty under one roof. I say, we certainly have come far."

"I'll have you know I was betrothed to a Targaryen, back in my day."

"I wonder if Sansa would count as a Targaryen? Royal, certainly," Alerie mused.

"Please," the elder woman said dismissively. "She's a Stark, not a Targaryen. She's barely even royal: once she or any of her other siblings marry, they renounce the title of Princess or Prince, remember? Even the mother of dragons will simply become a Lady or a Princess once Jon takes a wife."

"I assume those conditions were forced by the Faith."

"Obviously."

 _III_

 _Sansa_

 _The city is so warm, so warm and so bright._ Highgarden had somehow managed to live up to Sansa's wild fantasies. The girl had yet to find something she disliked about the place: everyone was courteous, the air smelt fresh and sweet, and like the songs claimed, the city was abundant with knights. _And they're rather handsome, too . . ._

"Princess Sansa!" She heard her name being called as her palanquin passed through the streets.

"Are they truly calling for me?" She asked.

"It seems so," Daenerys answered, her own name being a prominent part of the smallfolk's cheers.

"My princess is very popular," Dry Sand added.

Daenerys coughed. "And my queen," and all three of them laughed, as well as Missandei.

"The city's quite . . . Margaery, isn't it?" Daenerys commented.

"Quite so," Sansa chuckled. "It's beautiful though."

"I suppose," Daenerys scrunched her nose.

"It's gorgeous," Missandei sighed wistfully.

 _III_

Sansa was practically lifted from her carriage, once they reached the castle. The Tyrell family, along with the rest of their household was assembled in a neat formation, with Jon stood by Olenna. Sansa fought the urge to run to him, and watched with no small amount of amusement Daenerys do the same. _He is still the same . . ._ She followed behind Daenerys who seemed to know exactly what to do, Dry Sand silently by her side, making the whole ordeal seem much easier and less nerve-wrecking.

"Lord Mace Tyrell," Dany said kindly, offering him one of her rare smiles. "A pleasure to be invited into your beautiful home."

"My queen," Mace hurriedly bowed, and kissed her hand. "It is pleasure and an honour to receive you."

Daenerys smiled once again, and nodded in acknowledgment of everyone else's bows and curtsies, before walking to Jon's side. Sansa followed suit, though her palms were moist and her fingers trembling. "My lord," she said surprisingly clearly, curtsying.

"My princess," again, Mace kissed the royal's hand and spurted out a few flattering words.

Keeping her head firmly held up, Sansa walked over to her cousin's side also, exhaling heavily in relief when he smirked at her and patted her arm. As she followed the crowd into the magnificent castle, flowers braided into the towers, she slowed down her heart, reminding herself that she's done that many times before. Only this is the first time Cersei isn't here, waiting for me to fail. It should've been easier, not harder. These thoughts swirled in her mind, when a someone politely tapped her on the shoulder. Sansa looked up to see Wilas Tyrell smiling down at her.

"My lord," she said unsurely.

"Princess Sansa," he returned. "You look stunning."

She blushed. "Thank you, my lord. You look very handsome." _It is not a lie, he is rather attractive._

"That's new, it must be my hair. I combed it five times today, and not four," Sansa blinked at him, before he grinned. "A joke."

"Oh!"

"Sorry they're no good."

"There's no need to be sorry. I've just not heard that many jokes before."

"Really? No knights have ever tried winning your heart with laughter?"

No, just a king, and it was only him who laughed. "I'm afraid not, my lord."

"We'll have to remedy that, immediately," he pronounced, offering her his arm. "Come on, I'll show you where we keep our horses; the stable boys can always be counted on for a laugh."

"Of course," she accepted it. "Dry Sand, please tell the queen and Jon that I am with Lord Willas."

"Do you not wish for Dry Sand to come with you?"

"No that's fine, I'll be safe."

"Of course you will," Willas chimed in. "What harm can crippled old me cause? Except bore you tears."

Sansa giggled. "I'm sure you won't, my lord. Go on, Dry Sand, I'll be fine."

With a lot of reluctance, Dry Sand marched off, spear in hand, leaving Sansa giggling with Lord Willas.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry about Sansa's character everyone! Inadvertently, it seems I have taken my dislike for Lady Catelyn out on Sansa by displaying her as the season 1/2 version of herself by allowing Daenerys to treat her so horribly. Honestly, I didn't even realise I'd done it, so thank you _Lee_ (guest) and _elaine451_ for pointing out. Obviously I can't just have her switch suddenly, so I'll slowly but surely make Sansa the character she is in AFFC/Season Five of GoT, because I truly do like Sansa, she's one of my favourite characters. Also thank you _lambstoslaughter_ , your reviews are so real and show that you're quite invested in my little tale, they brightened my afternoow when I read them 3 3. Oh, and another note, ignore the numbers at the start of every chapter, those are just for me. **

* * *

_Chapter Twelve_

 _Arya_

 _12.06_

The day had finally arrived: the day Princess Arya Stark arrived at King's Landing, with an unimpressed expression across her face, a hand firmly clasping Needle, two surly knights and an umcomfortable blue dress.

"Like what you see?" The grinning captain asked Arya.

"It's the same as it was before," she returned. "Smell's a bit better, I s'pose."

The man sniffed loudly. "Aye it does."

"Will you be staying?" Arya asked.

"For a few weeks, I'd hazard. After that, I'm off to Lannisport."

"I thought they'd let you go home."

"And where would that be, princess?"

Arya bristled at the title but said nothing. "Highgarden."

"There's no place for me at Highgarden, girl, I'm just some distant nephew."

"Surely they wouldn't turn you away from your home. Don't you miss it?"

"Every day," he admitted. "But I like the sea, too. Quite a lot, actually. I meet interesting people," he winked at her.

"I could _make_ them let you stay at Highgarden," she said impulsively.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I could write you a royal decree or something. Or better yet, have the king do it."

The man laughed heartily, clapping Arya on her back. "You are a rare one, you know that?"

She only huffed in reply.

"Enough of your sulking; you're a princess now, you should be a proper little lady."

"Get stuffed," she retorted.

"Stop your sulking and come on," he teased. "Your knight says you have to put the dress on now, since we arrive in hours."

"Which one?"

"The solemn one," he replied.

Had it been Ser Barristan, Arya would've attempted hiding out for a few more hours, for as skilled as the man was on the battlefield, he was not as nimble and found it difficult to locate Arya once she decided to hide. Jorah, however, managed to suss out her hiding spots far too quickly than the girl liked. Plus, if she kept him waiting he might not bother with her lessons later on, and immersing herself in some Dothraki was the only thing Arya had looked forward to all day.

"Fine, where is he?"

"Where he always is."

 _III_

 _Sansa_

Four days at Highgarden had treated Sansa Stark very well. Her hair shone, her cheeks were flushed with happiness and her perfect posture started becoming less and less forced. In the words of Willas Tyrell, the girl simply flourished. Though she enjoyed most of what the garden city offered, from her tea's and sewing with various ladies, to frequent strolls with Willas through the town, she couldn't deny there being a heavy sadness around every one she came across, especially her cousin. It frightened her sometimes, seeing how distraught Jon was, no matter how hard he'd tried to hide it since she and Daenerys arrived. Sansa often wondered what would happen if Margaery didn't wake. _Jon could sink into an incurable sadness . . . He might even swear off women and father no heirs, and without heirs nobody would be left to rule and chaos would take over again._ The whole notion of Westeros tumbling into destruction, while lords from all over tried to nab the Iron Throne, brought back unpleasant thoughts. Thoughts of Cersei, of Joffrey, of her marriage to Tyrion, and her subsequent time with Petyr. No matter how hard she tried, Sansa couldn't stop herself from shaking slightly whenever thinking upon the misery she'd experienced. Despite coming out her ordeal stronger and smarter, the auburn-haired girl doubted she would ever be able to dwell on her past without shivering. _Never mind that,_ she shook her head, _Margaery will recover, she and Jon will reunite and they will have hundreds of children, enough to fill the entire Red Keep. I will make it so._

"—He insists we cannot leave until Margaery recovers. I feel as sad as the next person about the fall, but he must put the kingdom above himself, must he not?" Daenerys ranted.

Sansa regarded the violet eyes of Daenerys curiously, and attempted to pinpoint when exactly, they had become confidants. Remembering the queen's initial treatment, Sansa had never imagined the two would become civil, let alone friends, and would occasionally feel anger at how Jon and Daenerys received her, due to mistakes she'd made at ten and two. _It is not as if they are perfect, I was a child,_ she often vented. But time had quelled her resentment, and Daenerys' too it seemed. "He loves her."

"Yes, I know," Daenerys snapped. "I've been hearing it the past four days. From that wretched grandmother of hers, her insufferable twin, and unbearable father."

Sansa giggled. "My queen, you mustn't say those things. Any one could hear. And Ser Loras is Margaery's older brother, not her twin."

"Let them," Daenerys said dismissively. "Within weeks I'll be out of Highgarden, and in months out of Westeros altogether. I just wish she would wake up already," her voice began to crack, " I'm beginning to fear she won't. Ever."

"My que. . ." Sansa hesitated. "She will wake, Daenerys. She will, I know it."

"And if she doesn't? How will Jon manage? It took months for me to help him get over that wildling girl. He wouldn't survive this."

"You musn't underestimate him," Sansa advised, though she secretly shared the same worries. "Anyhow, with the additional Maester's, they've managed to pinpoint where in her head the damage was done, and have come up with many more theories on how to heal her."

"I suppose," Daenerys said, though Sansa sensed something sad on the woman's voice. "It has only been four days. And a mere three weeks since her fall."

"And the Maester's said a month should be the expected recovery time."

Daenerys sighed heavily, and ran her fingers through her hair. Sansa watched with none of the envy she might have felt five years ago, and reached a finger out to feel her own hair. _Willas was right in telling me to leave it down,_ she thought, _it is much less bother and feels softer already._

"Coin for your thoughts?"

"Oh—sorry."

"No need to apologise, just curious as to what you were daydreaming about."

"Nothing in particular," Sansa replied.

Daenerys opened her mouth to say something in return when a young, skinny girl, in dark pink attire approached the two. "Your Grace," she curtsied. "Princess Sansa."

"Carla," Sansa greeted the girl with a sweet smile—one she'd practiced numerous times in preparation for this visit.

"You remember my name?"

"Of course," Sansa said. "You were there two days ago, when Lord Willas and I took lunch together."

"I was," the girl beamed, clearly ecstatic at the thought of being known by one of the royals—which was of course Sansa's aim. "Pardon me, Your Grace."

"Pardoned," Daenerys said.

"His Grace requests you in the sickroom immediately."

"Is there something the matter?"

"I did not ask, Your Grace."

Daenerys nodded, yet made no move to follow the young girl; Sansa had noticed the queen's reluctance in visiting Margaery. "What do you think is the matter, Carla?" Sansa said suddenly. "You can tell us," she assured the girl. "We're friends."

"Well, my princess," the girl paused, eyes darting around for a second. "I heard Lady Olenna tell Ser Loras that the king wishes to bring scrolls from the Wall, to help heal Lady Margaery."

The queen glanced at Sansa, confused. "Scrolls from the Wall? Whatever for?"

"There was a Maester who served on the Wall when His Grace was there, a Maester who the king holds in high regards."

"Aemon," Sansa heard Daenerys murmur.

"Thank you, Carla," Sansa placed a hand on the maid's shoulder. "You've been wonderful."

The girl blushed brightly before scampering away, _probably off to gush to her friends about how friendly she is with me._ Sansa almost heard Petyr whispering in her ear: nice work. It disturbed her that she wanted to smirk and pat herself on the back.

"Do you wish to come?" Daenerys' voice echoed in her ears.

"Erm—no. Send my regards, I think I'll continue walking."

"Very well then," and with that, the queen stalked off slowly, apprehension spread across her features.

With the pleasantly warm sun above her, Sansa continued strolling through the gardens, grazing her fingertips along the odd flower, even entertaining the harmless flirtations sent her way by various boys she passed. None ever presumed to touch her, she suspected it was out of respect or fear of Jon. She certainly didn't mind, she was no longer interested in romance—not the way she had once been, at least. Sure, she sometimes allowed her thoughts to play with the idea of a knight in shining armour, but now she understood that she'd be one very lucky person if she was given the chance to marry for love and love alone. _Jon certainly won't force me into a political match, nor will Bran or Rickon when either of them become Lord of Winterfell, but how will I know when someone truly loves me and doesn't just see a gateway into royalty?_ Often she would sit and draw up a list of possible candidates, but with the war killing so many and pushing others into impromptu weddings, there were hardly any left. _I won't marry a Lannister, the Tully's are my family, the Stormlords are all rough and loud, and the Ironborn are certainly off limits. I could marry into one of our vassal Houses, but then I will be so far away from here._ Despite everything, Sansa still loved the South. She held Winterfell close to her heart, and knew she'd have to visit sometime soon, to gain some closure, but deep down she knew the South was where she planned to live. _Margaery would be good at this,_ she sighed, _when she wakes I will ask her opinion on the matter._

A golden flower caught Sansa's eye and the girl immediately when to pluck it, twirling it in her fingers. It reminded her of Cersei. And Joffrey. _I wonder when I will ever forget those two. It seemed I had when I was in the Vale, but maybe that as just because I was faced with a whole new set of adversaries and problems. Without the distraction, I can't seem to banish them from my mind._ Although she no longer trembled in fear at the sight of anything distinctly blond, or even the sound of their names as she once had, something inside her still froze when she thought of Cersei and Joffrey. _I shouldn't be afraid. Back then I was a prisoner, a girl, barely flowered. Now I'm a woman. A player. If Cersei were here I'd be in charge. I'd call the shots. If Joffrey were here I'd have Dry Sand beat him bloody then leave him in a room with Ghost for an hour. I shouldn't fear them, they're dead and gone and I'm still here. Sansa Stark._

"Princess Sansa?"

She looked up at her new acquaintance. "Lord Willas."

"You don't like the flower?" He looked pointedly at the crushed plant in her fist.

"The colour," she confirmed with a wry smile. "I hate yellow."

"Noted," Willas grinned and offered her his arm which she took gladly. "I suppose you wouldn't mind accompanying me on a quick walk, would you?"

"Depends if we're using your definition of quick, or mine."

He laughed. "Oh, your wit never fails to entertain me, my lady."

"Glad to know I'm entertaining, at least."

"And beautiful. But that's beside the point, come, let us walk."

"Crawl, you mean," Sansa quipped teasingly.

"It is bad grace to insult the crippled and handicapped, princess, surely you know that."

"Of course I do," she said. "I was married to a dwarf, remember?" For a split second, she wondered if she'd pushed herself to far, if her palms would moisten and her heart beat quicken.

But when Willas laughed loudly, she sighed in relief and grinned. "Oh how rude of me to forget. Only, you speak of him so . . . _little_."

The last word caused the two to collapse into laughter. They had quickly constructed an easy and playful banter, teasing each other about things Sansa once had nightmares of. I wonder if all Tyrell's are this lighthearted, or if it is simply Margaery and Willas. For some reason, her marriage to Tyrion became a joke with Willas, yet if she had been alone or in other company, simply thinking of her disastrous wedding night would've made drawn her into a sad silence.

"So how are things?"

"Fine. Warm," Sansa answered. "And you? I hear the Maesters have made some progress."

"Some," he agreed. "Not much. Not enough."

"They will, soon," she assured him. "Jon won't leave until they do," she jested.

"You're right. His Grace is very invested in our Margaery. Makes me wonder what they got up to in the Red Keep."

"Nothing improper," Sansa hastened to say. "They were good friends. She helped him get used to the South."

"Yes, our Margaery is ever ready to offer a helping hand."

"She's very kind. Every one back in the city will tell you the same."

"So I hear."

"She will get better," Sansa said again. "I promise."

A few moments passed where Willas gazed at Sansa, ignoring the increasing tension between the two. She ached to squirm under his scrutiny, but determinedly held her stillness. She'd noticed that Willas often went into moments of silence, his face filled with concentration. She'd previously put it down to his worry for his sister, but had recently come to reassess the reason. She was not stupid, she knew he found her attractive, more than he let on with his playful flattery, but she wasn't sure if that was why he lapsed into long gazes at her face.

Abruptly, he said, "I see you heeded my advice for your hair."

"Yes," she replied. "You were right, it is much more comfortable."

"And softer?"

"Immensely."

"Margaery often wore hers down, unless we were receiving guests."

"Really? It was always in some elaborate do back in King's Landing."

"Well, she was a guest to the king. Mother would have her guts for garters if she shamed the family with her appearance."

"Margaery could never do that."

"Neither could you, I'd say. When you put your hair up it makes you look older."

"I think that's the point. Well, the original point."

"It's helpful to look older sometimes, but here, you should be young and free. There's no-one to intimidate or scare, just us flower people."

"I guess so. Wearing it down makes me remember my mother; she would always brush my hair. Up to a hundred times at once, even."

"Truly? That is dedication."

"It looked like hers. I used to think she'd pretend I was her and she was her mother. Who died."

"I see."

"Sorry, I've waffled—"

"No. You never waffle. In fact, you're quite guarded about your childhood."

Sansa shrugged.

"Maybe it's a tale for another day?"

"Maybe. We barely know each other."

"Well, we'll just have to change that won't we? Come, enough of this crawling, did you say? I have birds to show you! Their feathers are the brightest things you'll ever see."

Animated and enthusiastic, Willas dragged a giggling Sansa through the gardens, turning to look at her every few minutes, just to make sure she was still smiling. Absently, Sansa wondered whether this was all still part of Lady Olenna's orders for Willas to keep her company, or if he truly found her entertaining. _Never mind that, we're having fun and right now that's what matters. Young and free._

 _Like Margaery._

 _III_

 _Jon_

Jon gripped Margaery's soft, cold hands, hoping to squeeze some life into her. Too many stretched silences and unforthcoming Maesters had drawn Jon into the kind of thinking he'd sworn he'd never get within spitting distance of: he thought about Margaery dying. He thought about them putting her in a box and closing it forever. He thought about having to attend her funeral, not being able to cry, and having to walk away afterwards. Mostly, he thought about whether he really knew Margaery Tyrell. They had spent a month together, a month where he'd been rather busy and her still healing from all that had happened. Each day, each hour, each minute, he'd play everything over in his head, constantly quiz himself. _What do I really know about her? What do I love about her? Do I love her?_ It haunted him. It was why he'd summoned Dany, something he rarely did. He needed reassurance from someone trusted. Not Olenna, who he knew would just tell him what they both wanted to hear.

"Where is she?" Jon muttered.

"The queen?" Loras said. "You sent for her ages ago."

"I know," said Jon.

"Probably just some trouble with that dragon of yours," Olenna said.

"Probably," _where is she? She hasn't paid a visit since her arrival?_

The door opened loudly, and Daenerys and Missandei entered. Loras and Olenna immediately rose to their feet, and Jon looked up. Daenerys offered him an apologetic smile, then turned her attention to the others, pointedly ignoring the still figure on the bed. "Lady Olenna, Ser Loras," she said and they both sat back down.

"How is she?" Daenerys ventured.

"The same," Loras answered bitterly.

"I heard they managed to pinpoint where exactly in her head the damage was?"

"Fat lot of help it did," Jon muttered.

"All the information does is tell us where not to touch. As if we'd trouble her head," Loras said.

"I see."

"Where have you been?" Jon asked.

"There was an issue with Rhaegal," she explained, while Olenna gave Loras a look which Jon was certain said: didn't I tell you?

"What was it? I know he hates it here."

"They just needed someone to tell him to stop breathing fire everywhere; apparently you were unavailable."

"How's the damage?"

"Nothing unfixable. I may have gotten myself scalded, but it doesn't hurt too much."

"Scalded? Let me see," Jon instructed.

Daenerys strode towards him, her hands held outwards, bright red. He carefully placed his hands around them, then instantly let go, inhaling sharply. "They're boiling!"

Placing them against her own cheeks, Dany frowned. "They feel fine to me."

"Blood of the dragon indeed," Jon said. "You should probably put that in some cold water or something."

"I'm fine," she insisted, causing Jon to sigh. "Honestly," he resumed his hold on Margaery's hand.

"What did you want me for?" She asked, staring at Jon's interlocked hands curiously

"It doesn't matter now. Just some issues with some lords."

"The usual," Olenna intoned.

"She really does look like a doll, just laying there, doesn't she?" Daenerys mused, looking at Margaery for the first time, with something wistful in her voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Loras demanded, as Daenerys reached out a finger to stroke the girl's face. "What do you think you're doing?" He continued heatedly.

"Nothing, I—" Her hand made contact with the smooth porcelain-like skin, and Margaery's snapped open.

She hissed in pain and reached to caress her burnt face. The movement caused her to groan in pain, and Jon froze. Olenna froze. Loras froze. Daenerys laughed.

 _III_

 _Arya_

 _I wish people would stop calling me 'Princess' already,_ she fumed internally. _I'm a Stark, not royalty._ Anger seemed to permanently bubble in Arya Stark, whether she wanted it to or not. In this instance, she did want it to. Her arrival at King's Landing had been far too loud and fussy for her tastes. People from all over had gathered at the docks, they cheered as she stepped foot on land, and followed her palanquin as it made its way to the Red Keep. She understood that they obviously loved Jon, but she hadn't done anything for these people, so why did they cheer for her homecoming as if they missed her? As if they'd known her? _It's stupid. I'm not their princess._

Saying goodbye to the captain had been a little harder than she'd initially assumed it would be. He'd been cautious not to make a show of it, and even gave her one of his many jokes to carry, but she'd still hugged him fleetingly and waved twice as she got further and further away from the ship. _I liked sailing. I liked that ship. At least Barristan and Jorah are still here._ The two knights seemed uncomfortable at best with the attention they were receiving because of Arya. And of course the animosity between the two hadn't lightened by one ounce. They'd been informed by Tyrion—who'd come to receive her—that their services with Arya were no longer needed as Jon had left his kingsguard for her. Arya had then of course informed this Tyrion that she didn't need a protector. _I've managed all these years with the clothes on my back and nothing else, I don't need some bloody knights to protect me now._

"Well this is fun," Tyrion commented jovially. "My, how I've missed the two of you."

"Be quiet, Imp," Jorah said coldly.

"It's Tyrion, actually, or 'my lord Hand'. Whatever you prefer."

"Very funny."

"Is there something I should know?" Arya asked.

"Ser Jorah's just jealous of anyone the queen favours. He knows that I am her favourite."

"Hardly," Barristan interjected. "There's Lady Missandei, Grey Worm, her bloodriders, King Jon—"

"Alright, alright, I get the picture," Tyrion said. "But after those lot, I'm next, whereas our banished knight here isn't even on the list."

"I was once," the man rasped. "I was the only one on it, once. Before any of you flocked to her cause," he sounded bitter, Arya watched him intently.

"Yes, _once_ ," Tyrion said.

"I hope this isn't going to be a regular occurrence," Arya complained. "Or else I'll be on the boat, quick as."

"And where would you go, princess? Back to Braavos?"

"Why not?"

"No reason," his eyes twinkled.

Arya groaned and fidgeted and picked at a loose thread on her horribly bright dress.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

 _Margaery_

 _12.06_

A soft hiss rang in Maraery's ears as she clutched her chest in pain. Her head hurt terribly, as if someone were inside pressing hard against it; while her lungs throbbed almost unbearably. Margaery opened her eyes for the first time in weeks, immediately shutting them against the uncomfortably bright light. When she re-opened them, her memories started flooding back, and she waited impatiently for one that explained Jon and Daenerys' presence in her home.

"Margaery, dear," Olenna breathed, disbelief etched into every wrinkle of her face.

"Gods, I thought you'd never wake," Loras gasped. "You're awake," he enthusiastically leapt from his chair, and engulfed Margaery in an awkward hug, interrupting Jon's hold on her hand. "I missed you."

"Loras?" She asked unsurely. _Seven hells, my throat feels rough as sandpaper._ "Why can't I move my legs?"

"They're broken," a level voice informed her. _Must be the queen. Why is she here?_

"Pardon?"

"Don't you remember Marg?" Her grandmother asked worriedly. "Your fall?"

"You must," Loras told her earnestly.

 _The fall, how could I not remember? Gods, how long have I been asleep? Every one must think me a fool for falling off my horse, I've been riding since as soon as I could walk! How will I explain it? Oh, yes, I tumbled to my almost-death because I was daydreaming about His Grace . . . Wonderful, another negative thing for every one to tag to my name and my House. Wait! His Grace, Jon—_

"You remember, don't you Margaery? You remember the fall?" Jon stared intensely into her eyes. _Yes, I remember it._ She heard the unsaid: and every thing before it.

"I remember," she confirmed. "I'm—so sorry."

"Oh Margaery," Olenna tossed her thoughts of propriety and good form out the window, and jumped to embrace her granddaughter as Loras had. "Don't apologise, every thing will be all right."

"We need to tell Father and Mother," Loras said.

"I'll go," Jon offered, rising noisily. "I'll probably find Garlan too," he muttered.

"I'll come with you," Daenerys said.

"Wait, Jon—Your Grace," a groan of pain cut Margaery's sentence short, sending her grandmother and brother into a brief panic, successfully giving the two royals the distraction they needed to escape.

"Loras, I'm fine," she snapped once they had left. "I just—"

"How can you be _fine_?" He demanded. "You've been unconscious for _weeks_ , Margaery, your legs are broken, your ribs are bruised and we all thought you were going to die—"

"All right, Loras," Olenna interrupted. "We've all been extremely worried, some more than others."

"Grandmother," Margaery chastised weakly.

"You've been very unwell, Marg, what happened? Why did you throw yourself off the horse?"

"Throw herself?" Loras frowned. "She fell—"

"Don't be so idiotic, Loras, your sister's been riding horses for thirteen years. She did not fall."

"Well she certainly didn't throw herself—" _Oh, won't they shut up already? My head kills and Jon left! What was he even doing here?_

"I didn't throw myself," she said loudly, a flurry of aches erupting in her skull immediately after.

"Ha—"

"And I didn't fall, exactly. I was thinking about things and I guess I let my mind wander with me. It was an accident. Purely unintentional."

"What were you thinking about?"

 _Jon._ "Everything," she told them. "Renly, Joffrey, Tommen, me. Us."

"The king," Olenna added softly.

"Him too," she maid admitted.

"Why were you thinking of Renly? May the Mother have mercy," Loras added.

"He was the starting point."

"Of what?"

"Of my demise. You know, I wasn't always like this. Scheming, manipulative, and power-hungry. I used to be sweet, and charming and charismatic."

"You still are," Loras argued.

"And every thing you did was for your House, your family."

"I did it for me too, Grandmother, I did it so I could be the queen. So I could rule, because I lusted for power."

"You would make an excellent ruler—"

"I know, I know, I've heard it all before," Margaery interjected tiredly. "But I'm not, not really? I'm good at using people, and making them like me, at reading their motives. But by the end of it, I was nowhere close to ruling and no better than Cersei," her voice was drenched in bitterness. "Mad, widowed, and foolishly chasing the Iron Throne."

"Oh, Marg."

"I didn't know you felt like this," Loras whispered. "You never came to me."

"Why would I? Everyone was happy, firmly in the present. I wasn't prepared to drag you back into the past with me."

"Why were you there, anyhow?"

"She's already said, Loras," Olenna told him. "It was His Grace. He left her and she sunk into a depression."

"Jon? He wouldn't do that, if he did I'll throttle—"

"You're right, Loras, _for once_. He didn't. I left."

"Because of the rumours? Of the other ladies at court? I told you, Margaery, ignore them—"

"All of them?" The girl retorted. "They all hated me. How can I ignore the mother of dragons, hm? Or the princess? I had to leave. It was better for every one."

"Not for you, evidently."

"I had to leave," Margaery repeated.

"You love him," Olenna said, a slight accusatory tone to her voice.

"Grandmother, not now, I am tired."

"Answer me."

"Grandmother, she said she's tired."

"Marg?"

"Yes, I love him. I love him and I couldn't stay there because it would not have worked out prettily."

" _You what_?"

"Margaery?" Mace Tyrell exclaimed, tumbling into the room, ten Maesters at his heels, along with a red-faced Willas and Sansa.

"Don't worry," Olenna assured her love. "I'll fix it for you, Marg."

 _You always do,_ she let her eyelids flutter, and offered a watery smile towards her eldest brother and his companion.

 _III_

 _Jon_

Silently, the king of the seven kingdoms sharpened his sword, aching for either one of his animal companions to ease his stress. Days he had spent worrying and fretting over Margeary's almost lifeless body, he'd tried nearly every thing to wake her up, and had never even entertained the thought of burning her. How could he? Hurting Margaery would've never occurred to him. He wondered why it had to Dany.

"Are you just going to sit there and brood?" She demanded. "The friend who you abandoned the Iron Throne for has just woken up."

"I know," he answered. "I saw her."

"So why are you here, preparing for a sword-fight then?"

"How did you know to burn her?" He asked suddenly.

"Not now, Jon, let's just go," she replied curtly.

"Tell me," he instructed. "Please."

She hesitated, and her eyes stood still for a moment. "Fire is life, isn't it?" Daenerys told him. "That's what I've always been told and what I've seen. I never realised my hands were so hot, but then I touched you and I heard your skin sizzle. And then I thought maybe. . ."

"Maybe what? You'd burn her to life?"

"I didn't think about it," she protested. "Her skin looked so dead, I just wanted to feel it—"

"Why?" He persisted, gut instinct telling him that she was hiding something.

"Because she looked like Drogo," Daenerys snapped, tears glistening in her eyes furiously.

 _Her ex-husband,_ he mused, _the one she hardly talks about but named Drogon for. The one whose child she bore._ Jon placed a comforting arm across Daenerys' back, rubbing quiet circles. He doubted that the movement quelled any of the pain she must've felt, yet he also understood the power of company in hard times. Of a presence other than yours. Exhaling loudly, she spoke once more, "That's what he looked like before he died. Before that witch took him away from me," she added the last sentence with venom laced into her words.

"I know," Jon replied softly. "You told me."

"He was just breathing, and his eyes were shut like hers, and—" she broke off, upset. "There's a reason I haven't been to see her since I arrived."

"I never thought anything of it."

"Nor should you have. It happened long ago—I was barely four and ten when I wed him."

"When he died."

"Yes."

"It's okay to feel like this, you know. You can cry, you don't have to Daenerys Stormborn, fearless and foreboding all the time."

"Oh really?" She scoffed. "And what should I be?"

"Dany," Jon offered. "I like Dany."

Baffling Jon, his sentiment caused her to begin sobbing. He watched. And watched. Until eventually she stopped, and he felt comfortable enough to look her straight in the eye.

"There are things I haven't told you," she breathed. "Things about our family, about your uncle, that I haven't told you."

"Dany—" he began pleadingly. _Now is not the time for a Targaryen history lesson._ He didn't want to hear about his dead family, he had enough who were alive to worry about. Particularly the one stood in front of him, crying.

"No, I won't get into it now, only you should know it wasn't Tyrion who called me Dany first."

"Yes, I know it was your knight, Ser Jorah."

She shook her head sadly. "Nor him."

"Then who?"

"Another time," she promised. "I just thought you should know. It's been my nickname ever since I can remember."

"Truly?" _I thought her brother was a cruel madman, I can't imagine him giving Dany an affectionate nickname. It must've been Drogon. That's why she's crying, it was a nickname shared between the two of them._

"Truly."

"We can leave," he suggested. "Leave and not see her."

"No," she returned quickly. "You can't leave without her. I know that now."

Jon exhaled in relief. "Had this been two years ago, I seriously doubt I'd have done something like this. Abandon my duty for-for—"

"Love?"

"Right. But now, I can't imagine not have coming here when I did. I don't think I'd ever have forgiven myself if I hadn't been there when she opened her eyes."

"That's how you know it's real, I suppose," Dany said. "Come, let's go back. If I know Margaery Tyrell, she'll be wondering where and why you've gone."

"All right."

They exited the small stable, and journeyed back with Missandei mutely behind them. During the walk Jon reached over to wipe a stray tear from Daenerys' eye, and smiled softly at her. She returned it and too, reached over to rub his upper arm. He held onto her tightly, thanking the old gods for the millionth time for giving him Daenerys. _She's family,_ he thought, _she's mine and I'm hers._ For years, all Jon had wanted was to belong, and he'd chased the dream by attempting to mirror Ned Stark's honourable ways. _I needn't have done it, any of it._ Because he had it now, he had a home in Daenerys, and she in him. And something in the back of his mind whispered that it was because he belonged and was accepted. _Maybe this was it, the key to happiness, maybe it was becoming a Targaryen._ He didn't allow the thought to linger, however, still uncomfortable at the prospect of renouncing his Northern roots. _Another time,_ he promised.

 _III_

 _Margaery_

Graciously, Margaery allowed several men, both young and old to examine her. They poked and prodded and rubbed and squeezed and concluded that Margaery was still fragile and weak. _Wow, really,_ she had thought sardonically. She was sentenced to a fortnight of bed rest, and after that a further week of muscle stimulation, to regain the strength in her legs. _Three weeks of being molly-coddled, fantastic_. As disgruntled as she was, nobody would've been able to tell from her demeanour. She flirted harmlessly with her younger Maesters, was exceptionally polite to the elder ones, and laughed breezily with her oldest brother, as if the action didn't set her throat on fire, or ignite vicious poundings in her head and chest. Anxiously, she waited for Jon to return. _He must, Loras says he was the one who sent all the extra Maesters and flew here for me. Surely he won't just flee now that I've woken? Will he?_

"All right Lady Margaery," the oldest healer said. "It seems everything is in order. You have the salve you need to apply to your ribs thrice a day and herbs for any pain relief."

"Thank you, kind sir," she returned sweetly.

"It was no bother," he told her, bowing.

"That will be all," Olenna dismissed him and his colleagues. "Finally," she said once they'd left.

"Grandmother," Willas sighed while Sansa stifled a snort.

"Just three more weeks, sweet sister, and you will be good as new," Loras enthused. "Three short weeks."

"Loras, don't overwhelm her," Lady Alerie intoned, her husband nodding along fervently.

"I'm not," he protested.

"Don't behave so rudely, Loras," Alerie admonished. "You're in the company of royalty."

Margaery chuckled quietly, amused at Loras' mutinous expression. He gripped her hand harder.

"This must all be terribly boring for you, Princess Sansa."

"Not at all," the princess in question responded cooly. "It's great to see you well again."

"If you're sure, princess."

"I am."

 _What have I done to displease her now? I've been in a coma for three weeks! She must just be putting on that cold facade she uses to defend herself._

"How fares your . . . His Grace?" Margaery asked awkwardly.

Raising an eyebrow, Sansa said, "Not too well since your accident."

"I heard he abandoned court and flew here to see me."

"Abandoned isn't the word I'd use. He was very concerned about you."

"His concern flatters me more than words can express," _she is changed, I will have to investigate._

Sansa simply smiled.

"Where _is_ His Grace?" Loras asked dryly. "Fled as soon as she woke up."

"Hush Loras," Olenna quipped.

"Princess Sansa?" Margaery said.

The young girl raised her head.

"Where is His Grace?"

"With the queen."

"We must thank Her Grace," Mace chimed in. "For waking you."

"I'm sure she isn't expecting a thank you," Sansa said, offering a rather warm smile towards Willas.

 _What is the meaning of that?_ Margaery glanced up her grandmother who winked at her.

"Nevertheless, I will give one personally. Without her, I might never have awoken."

"I doubt Jon would've allowed that to happen." _Oh, she slipped up and called him Jon. She said it so easily, they must be much closer now. My my, what have I missed?_

"He is rather enamoured with our Margaery," Mace agreed eagerly.

"Mace," Alerie hissed.

And so it went on. Her father embarrassed himself by simpering to Sansa or bragging of Margaery's relationship with Jon, her mother continued to discreetly scold him, Willas kept his eyes firmly on either Margaery or Sansa, occasionally asking how Margaery felt, then drifting off into silence once more, Loras sat sulkily by her side, holding her hand tightly, while Olenna fussed with her hair and face, and muttered darkly about Garlan and his wife and child. Sansa sat prettily and watched. _She must think so lowly of me now she is fully a princess and has my brother wrapped around her little finger._ Jealousy bubbled inside of Margaery, that she fought tirelessly to tame. _I am too smart for such things as jealousy,_ she assured herself, but whenever Willas' gaze drifted to the younger, prettier, more graceful maid, who would then return the stare with a rather familiar smirk or slight upturn of the lips, she saw red. It was not that she wanted Willas' attention, she just wished her romantic life were going so smoothly. _Four days she's been here, and already Willas fancies himself in love with her, while I have spent months pining after Jon and he is not even here!_

It was just after that thought that Jon re-entered the room, Daenerys in tow, along with Dry Sand who walked silently but with a sense of urgency to Sansa's side. _When I was last awake, he was coldly detached and now he looks at her as if she is the Mother._ Margaery groaned internally; she hated being out of the loop for so long.

"Your Grace," everyone chorused, twice. Blushing violently, Margaery only smiled demurely, unable to stand. _Oh gods I'm a cripple!_

"Sansa," Daenerys said—announced really. "I need your opinion on something, might I borrow you?"

"Of course," Sansa answered.

"And you too, Lady Alerie, if you please," she added.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Once the trio left and Jon remained stoic, Mace made his excuses and fled too, planting a quick but wet kiss on his daughter's cheek. _He does love me, I know it, but gods he can sure make a fool of himself in front of socially higher company._ Willas stayed a further ten minutes, moving closer to Margaery, whispering a few funny anecdotes to her that Sansa was an unsurprisingly large part of.

"I suppose this is our cue to leave," Olenna said wryly when Willas departed.

"It is your home, Lady Olenna," Jon said.

"Exactly," Loras growled.

"Loras," Margaery murmured. "Please."

He didn't leave at first, even after Olenna had. It took a few more pleading looks on Margaery's part for him to. When he did, she looked at Jon shyly, suddenly forgetting why she'd wanted to see him so badly earlier.

 _III_

 _Jon_

 _She looks beautiful._ Jon didn't think he had used those words in a romantic sense in years, but he meant them when he laid eyes on Margaery for the second time since her awakening. He noticed that her smile was tired, though, and her eyes weary. He hadn't meant to dismiss her family so rudely, he'd initially planned to carefully and subtly make them leave, with Daenerys making it clear that that was his aim—but he'd come in and seen her chuckling softly at some interaction between her mother and Loras and lost his words. _This has never happened to me!_ It was unsettling to be so at loss.

"He loves you."

"Yes, bless him," she smiled gently.

 _She looks so young._ "I've missed you."

"I can tell," she teased weakly.

He chuckled in return. "I don't think I handled things very well."

"I disagree, I think you handled every thing very well."

"Leaving King's Landing in the lurch to sit by your bedside for two weeks?"

"It was a very sweet gesture."

"Let's hope every one else thinks so. Prince Doran especially."

"Oh yes," she exclaimed. "You were meant to visit Dorne."

"A while ago actually. I wrote a letter of apology, but he will possibly think it a slight against Dorne in favour of Highgarden."

"Most likely," she agreed grimly. "No more flights of fancy for you, I fear."

"I'm not very good at the king thing, I don't think," he said ruefully.

"I have to disagree with you again, Your Grace," she shook her head. "You're bound to make mistakes: but on the whole, ruling seems to come to you naturally."

 _It shouldn't be this easy, it should be awkward and tense and—_

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"Fly here for me."

"I-I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Is that all?"

"You take me for a liar?"

"No, no," she rejoined hurriedly. "Only, you're known for being dedicated to your duty, it's strange that you abandoned it for . . . Me."

He sighed. He had dreaded this conversation, and had managed to avoid so far. _Avoid it no longer._

"You know what it was like while I was on the Wall," he started. "I only went there because I felt I had no place at Winterfell with my uncle gone, and I wanted to prove that I could be honourable as him."

Margaery nodded along; she'd heard the tale once before. "It wasn't miserable there, it wasn't all bad but it's hard and difficult to swear off your entire family. It still haunts me, some nights, Robb's death. I always imagine that I could've saved him had I run off. I was his brother and I abandoned him when he needed me most; when he went to war to avenge our—his father and it's not a nice feeling. To know your loved ones need you and then to turn your back and pretend you don't know or see. I could've gone to Winterfell earlier and rallied people to save Sansa, Joffrey terrorised her, to this day she can't look at Tyrion. And Arya—" he paused. _Breathe, Jon, breathe._ "On the run with _The Hound_? Alone and hungry and cold with no family and I was at the Wall, calling criminals my brothers—"

"Jon," Margaery cooed. "You can't blame yourself for that."

"Who else is to blame? I left them when they needed me. And I just couldn't do that with you. Not again, no more nights wondering what could've happened if I'd put family first."

"Lord Stark was a brilliant battle tactician, he would've lived if his foes had been as honourable as him or you. If you'd run off to save him you'd have been slaughtered along with him, with Ghost's head sown onto your neck. Trust me, I know."

"We'll never _really_ know though, will we?"

"No," she sighed, " I guess not."

"At least I came this time. And brought Dany with me."

"Yes, you made the right choice. You usually do, Jon, you have to trust your instincts. And back then, they told you to stay at the Wall, and they were right. You couldn't have saved them all, you're just one man."

"I could've tried though."

"You did what you could. If you were fighting alongside Robb, or kidnapping Sansa back, who would've fought the wildlings? Who would've fought the Others? Who would rule us now?" He saw her gulp at this point. "You would never have met Ygritte."

Jon sucked in a harsh breath at the sound of her name. Weeks had passed since he'd thought about her, his immunity to her had faded and so hearing her name again caused his chest to burn with guilt and longing. _I love Margaery now._ And he did, but he loved Ygritte too, he always would, and nothing would erase her body being engulfed in flames from his mind.

"I might never have met you," he countered.

"That too," she grinned.

The two fell into easy chatter. Jon filled Margaery in on everything she'd missed, boasting playfully about riding Rhaegal non-stop and promising to let her meet him once she healed, and Margaery admitting to Jon why she'd fallen off her horse. The news shocked him, adding a few more pounds of guilt onto his heart, but Margaery managed to distract him from it for the meanwhile. His hands found hers almost without his knowledge, and she clasped his in return, beaming with unadulterated joy. Thoroughly engaged in telling Jon of Garlan's wife's sister's escapades which he wasn't too interested in, Margaery didn't notice the happiness radiating from him. _This is the first time I have held her hand and felt her hold me back._ For a couple of hours, they were happy.

And then her family returned, Garlan and his child with them this time. Jon reluctantly took a back seat while they fussed over her, and she chattered back to them. He wondered whether she was tired yet.

"How are you?" His eldest cousin unceremoniously appeared at his side, adorning a sympathetic smile.

"Hi Sansa," he returned. "How are you?"

"You're avoiding the question," she smirked. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm much older now and a lot less stupid," she nudged him.

"I know but you're still much younger than I, I wouldn't want to—"

"But I would want you to," she emphasised. "I'd like us to be family, like you and Arya were."

Her words evoked a strange feeling in the king, and he regarded her curiously, noting her earnest smile and kind eyes that seemed to miss nothing. _Maybe I should leave her here to be fostered by Lady Olenna, sharpen her wits some . . . No, Dany will breathe fire and I'm not sure I'd feel safe around a someone tutored by both Olenna and Littlefinger._

"We are," he assured her finally. "We always will be," she beamed at him gratefully then set her gaze back on the rejoicing family, her cousin noticed how it seemed to be pointed particularly at the eldest Tyrell son.

Jon didn't know how to feel. He cared for Sansa, and had grown to like her some too, and he obviously loved her in that obligatory familial way, but he wasn't sure he did the way he loved Daenerys or Arya. Or whether he wanted to accept that he did. He had no clue what to make of her request. _I know Tyrion would want me to befriend her, to spend more time with her, but do I want to? Can I?_ His ongoing inner conflict of which of his parent's House to fully embrace certainly didn't help the matter.

"Your Grace," Alerie's voice floated daintily across the room. "I do hope we aren't boring you or Princess Sansa."

"Of course not," he answered.

"His Grace just wonders where Queen Daenerys is."

"Her Grace was speaking with a few of the townsfolk when I last saw her," Garlan said. "My wife stayed with her."

"Thank you, Ser Garlan," Jon said, getting to his feet. "I think I'll go find her."

"Oh no, you don't have to leave," Olenna said quickly. "Stay: you're part of the family now," she implored, causing Loras to cough loudly and his father to then shoot him a very hard look.

 _I'd have thought he'd cease his insolent behaviour once Margaery woke up. Someone had best instruct him to stop, if it continues I'm going to have to say something else everyone'll think me soft._

"You deserve to be with her as much as us," Willas said. "You've waited just as anxiously for her recovery as we have."

Jon watched Sansa watch Willas with an undeniable glimmer in her eyes. He seriously longed to know what had transpired between the two in four short days, _she cannot be in love, she can't even be in like, she's barely six and ten, and still traumatised from Joffrey!_ Slightly annoyed, he debated on whether to add Willas to the list of Margaery's brothers he'd have to say something to. _It would be for Sansa's own good._

"Too much of us aren't ideal. I wouldn't want Marg . . . Lady Margaery to gain a migraine."

"His Grace is right," Loras said, yet he didn't seem to be directing the snub at Jon this time; but instead his elder brother. "You can go back to your wife, too."

"Oh shut it, Loras," Garlan said dismissively. "Margaery wants to see her little nephew, don't you Marg?"

"Definitely," her voice sounded much weaker to Jon's ears than it had been half an hour ago. "But I'd like you to stay as well, Your Grace."

"I'll have to reject your offer this once," he replied. "I have to make sure Queen Daenerys isn't bored and check up on her soldiers."

"Yes, I should see to Dry Sand as well," Sansa chimed in.

"If you're sure," Mace said. "Your Grace, Princess."

"We are."

 _III_

 _Margaery_

As Jon and Sansa left the room, Margaery tried extremely hard not be jealous of her good friend and the queen. _Even Sansa means more to him than I._ Her emotions and thoughts sickened her. She had wanted Sansa and Jon to be closer, she'd wanted him to have as big a family as her own, yet seeing them together or him and the dragon queen left her angry and sad and longing for the times when he sought her out simply for a walk around the gardens. _I will never mean anything to him. Not what Queen Daenerys does._

 _III_

 _Daenerys_

Her eyes were glassy and dead when Sansa and Jon approached her, sat lonely facing the sea. "Hello."

"My queen?" Sansa inquired unsurely.

"Please. Daenerys," she sighed. _If I hear those two words again today, I'll snap._

"Dany? Is everything all right?"

"It's fine; I'm _reflecting_ ," she elaborated.

"On what . . . Daenerys?" _Seven hells, is my name really that hard to say? I truly must've frightened the poor girl._ Shame nipped at her chest momentarily.

"Things you wouldn't understand, Sansa," she replied. "Don't take offence, Jon wouldn't either."

"None was taken."

"Come inside," Jon implored. "It's cold."

"It's rather warm actually."

"She's right, Jon. You're going to have to be more convincing."

"See, women know best," Daenerys joked weakly. "We always do and always have."

"And always will," Sansa added.

"Except when we don't." _Like when I let that witch kill my husband! My sun-and-stars . . ._

"Come inside, Dany," Jon said softly, reaching for her hand. "Please."

The queen peered up at her nephew, she saw her own grief reflected in his eyes. _Gods, don't tell me I've made him sad too._ She wondered whether he only grieved her own sadness or if something else was playing on his mind. _Probably his little sweetheart._

It was Sansa who made her resign to get up and follow them back to the castle. The girl wore an expression of kindness and some undertones of worry. _Maybe she wasn't so horrible and dull after all. Stupid and naive she certainly is not. I was stupid and naive to make an enemy of her._

"Fine. Let's go."

 _III_

 _Arya_

 _16.06_

The Red Keep was unsuccessful in impressing the young princess. It's tall, foreboding walls, immense and intricately designed gardens, bountiful selection of servants at her beck and call only bored Arya Stark. She longed for the wild, for the sweaty and condensed roads of Braavos, and quietly, for her own castle back in the North. But she'd already come to the conclusion that she longed for Jon and the rest of her family more than all those other things; so she remained in King's Landing under the watchful eyes of Tyrion, Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah, and only complained in the mornings. In the afternoons she ran amuck with Ghost—who'd failed to leave her side since she'd arrived—spying on inconsequential people, spying on consequential people, chasing each other in the gardens, attempting to glance at the Queen's two dragons, and immersing herself in Valyrian now since Dothraki came too easily had become somewhat boring. She spent some time with Rickon and Osha, a lot of time actually, but on Jon's orders Rickon spent most of his days in various lessons being prepped to become the Lord of Winterfell, whereas Arya constantly avoided hers, citing that she undertook lessons in languages and that was enough.

"What shall we do today, Ghost?" Arya asked lightly, over some toast.

"How about you ask Lord Tyrion if anything around the castle needs doing? I hear there are some gifts Princess Sansa had prepared to be sent to the silent sisters?" Barristan suggested.

"Or you could go to some of your brother's lessons with the Maester," Osha said.

"Or simply not gallivant around the city like a wayward child," Tyrion said dryly.

"Firstly, I was speaking to none of you," she began. "Secondly, a visit to the silent sisters might _actually_ bore me to death, I'm not going to sit learning how to count all day and I _do not_ gallivant."

"I'm not criticising," Tyrion held his hands up, mocking surrender. "The princess does as the princess wants."

She groaned.

"I was," Osha said haughtily. "Princess or not, you have a duty."

 _Duty. How I hate that word. Duty is what got my father killed,_ she almost snapped. _Duty is what nearly got Jon killed,_ if word around court was anything to go by. _Duty is what Sansa does, not me._ "I'm not a proper princess," she protested. "That's Sansa. And Jon has his aunt to do the royal thing as well. I can do as I like."

"The words of a child," Osha said. If they had come from Tyrion or Barristan, or Jorah who sat silently by her side, she may have argued back, but from Osha she didn't mind. Osha didn't understand the ramifications of insulting royalty as well as the others, and even if she did, which Arya suspected, she didn't care and wouldn't stop despite anyone telling her to.

"Good morning my lords and ladies and knights and princess" Varys' voice slid smoothly into the wide room.

The occupants of the table muttered half-hearted replies. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" Tyrion asked.

"Oh, how you flatter me, my lord hand," the eunuch answered, smiling dryly. "You owe the pleasure to a letter from His Grace."

"I assume it was addressed to me," Tyrion said. "Which begs the question of why you have it," he took the roll of parchment from the Spider's smooth hands.

"I serve the realm in any possible way I can," he responded. "Bringing a simple lost letter to the Hand was no bother."

"I don't doubt it," the Imp muttered, as he unrolled the parchment.

Arya watched the Lannister's eyes skim across each line, his face positively unreadable. She wondered what Jon had written, and then wondered whether Tyrion would let her read it. _He has to, Jon's my brother._ She ignored the part of her brain correcting her purposeful mistake. Her eyes drifted to the form of Varys. After day in King's Landing Arya had decided she didn't like the tittering man much, and after paying attention to some of the whispers about him, even decided not to use any of her free time sniffing around his business. Really and truly, Arya didn't like many of Jon's lords, Tyrion and Smalljon Umber being the only ones she could tolerate. And even Tyrion, not that much.

"Was there any word from Her Grace," Arya noticed how Jorah's lips pursed at the title.

"Just a quick note commenting on her impatience to get to Dorne," Tyrion replied, folding up the letter neatly and sliding it over to Arya.

She pocketed it quickly. "Dorne? So that means I won't be seeing him for ages yet," she moaned.

"It seems so," Osha said.

"And Lady Margaery?" Varys questioned.

"Seems Queen Daenerys has woken the girl."

 _What?_

"How?" Jorah demanded.

"She went to see one of the dragons, burnt her hands, touched the sleeping maid, and bam, she awoke."

"That's. . ." Arya began.

"Southerners," Osha shook head. "None of your fancy Maesters ever thought to try that earlier?"

"Seems not," Jorah grumbled.

Osha scoffed then pushed her chair back, creating a loud screeching noise. "Really?" Tyrion said.

"Where's Rickon?" She asked.

"In his lessons, Osha."

"Is he—"

"No, it's not his sword-at-arms. Arithmetic, so you won't be interested."

"Hmph. What ever. I'm going for a walk, care you to come Arya?"

"No thanks," _a walk with Osha means a lecture on propriety, a rant about the South, complaints of missing Rickon and aching limbs._

 _"_ Very well," the woman said.

"You know, I think I do have something for you to do," Jorah piped in. "Follow me to the gardens."

Sighing, Arya rose, gesturing for Ghost to follow her, knowing the exiled knight only wanted to see the letter.


End file.
